


Hart's Legacy (Hart)

by yayanaptime



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Eventual Romance, F/M, Familiars, Female Harry Potter, Minor Character Death, No character bashing, Parseltongue
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-12
Updated: 2019-04-23
Packaged: 2019-05-05 18:44:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 16
Words: 41,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14624781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yayanaptime/pseuds/yayanaptime
Summary: Harriet Potter knows that there's somethingdifferentabout her, and it's not just her freakish left eye or that her best friend is a young adder by the name of 'Mr. Snake'.After meeting a strange man with a penchant for glaring at people, she finally learns her true identity- awitch, and accepts her place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. But life at Hogwarts is more complex than book-learning, and she is inevitably drawn into centuries-old conflicts as a key player. The most important question: where do her loyalties lie?





	1. Hidden Hart

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Adders, while awfully misrepresented in the court of public opinion, are obviously wild animals and not pets. These beautiful vipers are best appreciated at a respectful distance. While an adder bite is unlikely to kill you, it will give you a few days off sick to re-evaluate your life decisions.
> 
> A/N: _Italics are a pain._
> 
> A/N: The line _Strange things keep happening around her, tearing down the facade of normality she keeps to appease her abusive relatives, and they only seem to be getting stranger and more unpredictable._ was in the original summary, but was removed as I felt it suggested that this fic was mostly about Harriet's pre-Hogwarts years, when it's not. Although, a fic like that would be interesting.

_Another fruitcake,_ Harriet muttered to herself as she walked towards the bus stop, bag of groceries digging into her hand. It was bad enough being accosted by the strange man dressed in a quite frankly ridiculous shade of purple and a top hat with peacock feathers stuck in the brim, but the tall stranger now in front of her looked genuinely dangerous. And he was standing in front of the bus timetable.  
“Excuse me, Mister,” she said, irritation clear in her 10-year-old voice, “you’re in the way.”  
The man glared at her, not bothering to respond or let her see the timetable. Even though it was the middle of summer, he was wearing a heavy woolen coat and a black trilby that looked a size too small and made his dark hair stick out at odd angles.  
“Look, Mister-” she began, and then stopped as she saw her bus pull into the stop. She hurried to board it, showed the driver her ticket, before sending a pointed scowl in the direction of the stranger. Or where the stranger had been, anyway. As the bus pulled away, Harriet had a perfectly unobstructed view of the bus timetable, and Overdressed was nowhere to be seen. Harriet sighed. She had more things to worry about than disappearing fruitcakes, and was quite glad that the Dursleys had not been around to see her interaction with Purple Top Hat. She didn’t pretend to understand her Aunt and Uncle’s reaction to anything that could be considered unusual- but she was used to it, and used to hiding _certain things_ from them.  
One of those things was trying to break free from her jacket pocket as she took a seat as far away from anyone else as possible (not a challenge on the 6:45am route 2b).  
“Be patient,” she hissed, setting the groceries down carefully on the seat between her and the window before ripping open the velcro on the pocket of her cheap red raincoat.  
“I prefer the one with the… buttons, yes, it is much more comfortable.” The certain thing said, slithering over the grocery bag to try and catch some of the weak flashes of morning sunlight.  
“Well I prefer not having to make up an explanation why a shop assistant fainted, just because you wanted to catch a spider.” Harriet retorted.  
The snake flickered his tongue remorselessly. “That was only one time.”  
“And it’s not going to happen again,” Harriet said.  
Mr. Snake, a Common Adder that Harriet had discreetly rescued from her sadistic cousin almost three years ago when he was not much bigger than a pencil, was Harriet’s favourite secret. _To be fair on him, he does understand why he’s not to be seen now,_ Harriet thought, _but I don’t want to risk my only friend._  
The bus would reach her stop soon, and she had breakfast to make before going to school. Harriet fiddled with the edge of the plaster she wore over her freakish left eye before noticing what she was doing and stopping herself. The longer she could make the plasters last, the less she had to remind the Dursleys of her freakish nature by adding them to the receipts she handed them after every shopping trip to be scrutinised by Aunt Petunia’s eagle eyes.  
*

Professor Snape threw that exasperating hat into a corner and glared at it, silently reminding himself to never wear any item of clothing Albus Dumbledore had given him, ever again. He wordlessly transfigured the coat back into black robes and poured himself a glass of cold water. _The child,_ he thought, _unmistakably has Lily’s eyes- well, eye, given that one of them was lost to the killing curse, but the rest of her is entirely her father. Same voice, same stance, same hair, same arrogance, same lack of manners._  
Albus would probably tell him that one encounter could not be used to judge a person’s character, but Snape _knew._ Harriet Potter would no doubt be sorted into Gryffindor, be surrounded by red-and-gold-scarfed henchmen, and generally be an insufferable student to deal with.  
_Merlin, the child already wore her house colours. And out on her own at that age as brash and bold as they come, she’s definitely her father. Her relatives must let her get away with anything. I wonder how she’ll like scrubbing cauldrons for hours. I hardly think it’ll be long before I have cause to put her in detention._  
*

Harriet didn’t quite know how the glass of the snake tank disappeared, but it just seemed to be one of those things that happened around her. She was certainly glad now that Mr. Snake had opted to stay at home and catch up on some sunbathing on the living-room window while the house was empty. He usually did on that day of the year, anyway. Something about Mrs. Figg’s cats terrified him.  
Aunt Petunia was still shrieking, even though the Boa Constrictor had long since made a hasty retreat. Harriet wondered what she’d think if she knew that she shared a house with a venomous snake. Harriet sighed and closed off part of herself in preparation for Uncle Vernon’s rage when they got back home. This was probably going to be worse than the time she’d found herself on the school roof, or when her class teacher’s toupee turned a lovely shade of sea green.  
_They can hit me, scream at me, insult me, insult my parents, force me to do more chores, lock me in the cupboard or whatever. But at the end of the day, when Aunt Petunia gets herself drunk, I’ll be the only one in the house that can cook a decent meal. And Mr. Snake is the only person whose opinion matters, anyway._  
Thinking about Mr. Snake always gave her confidence. When she got home and was shoved in the cupboard, he’d be there waiting for her and they’d talk about how Dudley screamed like a piglet when the Boa Constrictor slithered past him.  
She bowed her head to the floor to hide her grin.  
*

“The hat? No, my boy, I didn’t do anything to it- just some simple charms to keep any muggles from noticing the wearer. They shouldn’t have had any other effect... this is most puzzling, most puzzling indeed…” Dumbledore shook his head, before his eyes sparkled with realisation.  
Snape glared at the amused face in the fireplace. Besides the Headmaster’s dismissal of needlessly complex high-level charms far beyond the purview of most wizards as ‘simple’, the entire conversation up to this point had been more annoying than predicted.  
“Well?”  
“Earlier this summer I remember trying to convince you to let a pair of Gryffindor second-years off detention- it was the last week of school after all-”  
“I remember. Those detentions were well earned. They transfigured the legs of all the cauldrons, chairs and tables in my classroom into actual legs. I still haven’t cleared up the mess that caused yet. They were lucky no-one was seriously injured.”  
“There’s no need to repeat that particular conversation, Severus, I just realised that had you left a pair of accomplished pranksters alone in a room with the hat I gave you-”  
Snape groaned and reached to close the connection.  
“One more thing, my boy! I have something I need you to do…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: The consequences of never ever reading any sort of instructions!  
> For the first few chapters I used the Plain text with HTML box, which, of course didn't carry the text formatting (mostly italics) through. So I looked up the HTML and typed or pasted < e m > and < / e m > around words for the italics- which makes the original document look pretty ridiculous.  
> Then I found out that you can just flick over to the rich text box and paste the text there, keeping the formatting from the word document. _Hits head against table._


	2. Cold Hart-ed

Harriet shivered violently. She tried to tug the thin blanket tighter around her, but it was useless.

She curled up into a ball and tried to distract herself from the stabbing cold by listening to the storm rage outside the little shack. It really didn’t help.

Then she heard a sound like a muffled firecracker and panicked. Quiet footsteps - not her Uncle’s or her Aunt’s and certainly not Dudley’s (who was snoring on the couch) - could only just be heard through the raging storm. There was someone outside, and given the only thing on this tiny rock of an island was the equally tiny hut, Harriet was terrified. 

She was instantly reminded of a fairly traumatising incident from a few years ago, when Dudley had a sleepover with two of his idiot friends. She’d somehow been naive enough to think that their offer to watch a film together was made in kindness. The film, an 18 rated slasher-horror about a group of friends staying in an abandoned house and being hunted down by a masked lunatic, was brought by one of said idiot friends. The four children were, however, equally terrified long before Dudley’s TV inexplicably blew up. The long-forgotten creeping fear now filled Harriet’s veins.

She slowly scrambled to stand up, jerkily grabbed the poker from the useless fireplace and concealed herself behind the door, shivering with equal parts fear and cold, wincing as the knife-like drafts of cold air pierced through her clothing as if it wasn’t there. The poker felt heavy and strange in her hand, and the small child knew she had no idea how she could defend herself with it.

She could see a steady faint light between the cracks in the wood walls.

The intruder opened the door and stepped inside the hut.  
*

“Don’t move.”

Snape barely heard the quiet, trembling voice coming from behind him after he entered the room. He immediately turned towards it and was almost too slow to raise a shield charm when a poker came flying towards him.

The child has _two_ eyes. 

One of them was a lighter shade of green with a narrower pupil, makin her face disconcertingly asymmetrical, but the popular belief that the killing curse took her left eye but not her life was wrong. Both eyes were accounted for and shining bright green in the light of his lumos.

Controlling his expression, Snape simply raised one eyebrow and spoke.

“Miss Harriet Jamie Potter, I presume?”

The child tried to back further against the wall, and stopped glaring at him in surprise.

“How do you know- wait- are you the one sending me those letters?” Her voice was breathy and thin. _She’s terrified_ Snape realised, reluctantly impressed by such composure and intelligence under pressure, quite unbecoming of an 11-year-old. 

“In a manner of speaking,” he replied, thinking for a fraction of a second that maybe this ridiculous mission Dumbledore had sent him on wouldn’t be so bad after all.

“What… who are you and what do you want with me?” Her voice grew louder and higher with each word, until the last one was a scream. _Or not._

Before Snape could make any attempt to calm her and explain, he heard a clumsy rustling noise behind him. 

“Mum? Izzat you? Wha’s goin’ on?” A lazy-sounding boy’s voice could be heard from the centre of the small room.

Strengthening his wandlight, Snape turned around to face him. The clearly overweight boy stared at him with bug-eyes and screamed for his parents. 

_This is not going at all well._

Snape immediately cut off the noisy child with a silencing charm.

After the briefest moment of precious silence, a horrified voice behind him asked “...did you ...did you kill him?”  
*

Dudley’s screaming cut off sharply. That was not something that had ever happened before, to Harriet’s knowledge. She had seen the intruder point something- some kind of stick- at her cousin and the screaming stopped. Her heart pounded in her ears and she broke out into a cold sweat. She didn’t know what was going on. Overwhelmed with fear and confusion, she closed her eyes and tried to steady her breathing. She wished Mr. Snake was here with her almost as much as she was glad that he had stayed at home.

_My friend, will I ever see you again?_

Without thinking, she asked the only question she could pull words together to form.

“Did you kill him?”

“No.” The man glared at her and muttered something, waving the stick about in a few strange movements and less than a second later it was as if someone had switched the light on. Harriet looked past the man to see Dudley sitting on the couch, hyperventilating with his eyes almost popping out. He looked unharmed. Nothing short of magic could make her noisy cousin be quiet once he’d started screaming. 

Something clicked in Harriet’s brain. It was the only explanation.

“Magic,” she breathed.

“Obviously,” the glaring intruder replied.

Harriet laughed and collapsed to the floor. “Yeah, obviously,” she managed to say through bursts of uncontrollable, hysterical laughter.

“Dudders! Dudders are you okay? Did she do something again?” Aunt Petunia shrieked as she came running into the room.

“HARRIET!” Vernon’s voice boomed with anger. “YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW MUCH TROUBLE YOU’RE IN! IF YOU THINK THAT--”

Both stopped in their tracks, silent and bug-eyed as their offspring when they laid eyes upon the glaring intruder. 

Harriet looked up at him as well, tear tracks drying to her face as her laughter devolved into a few wheezing coughs. She took in his long, black robes and confident stance. His face had an expression that exuded equal parts disdain and boredom, with dark eyes set deeply either side of a hooked nose that looked slightly too large for his face. His hair was black, shoulder length, and didn’t look as if it had been washed this month. 

She watched his lip curl into a sneer as he eyed her relatives.

“Tuney,” he said, “it’s been a long time.”

Harriet could only stare. This man certainly did not look like any of her Aunt’s friends.  
Aunt Petunia finally broke the long silence. “S-S-S-Sev?”

“Petunia, who is this man?” Vernon growled.

Glaring Man replied in her stead. “No-one you need concern yourself with, Dursley. Why don’t you take your… son, here, and leave the room.”

Vernon boggled. 

“Now.”

Something about Glaring Man had scared Vernon into hasty obedience. He half-dragged Dudley off the couch and into the other room.

Harriet sat up and hugged her knees to herself, keeping her eyes on the man in front of her as he knelt down besides her and handed her one of those letters. She accepted it wordlessly and skimmed her eyes over the address before opening it.

Miss H. Potter  
The Floor  
Hut-on-the-Rock  
The Sea  
England

Her fingers shook as she broke the wax seal. She carefully unfolded and then read through both pieces of paper, three times each. 

The man hadn’t moved from besides her when she looked up. 

“Is this… is this real?” she asked, her voice small and shaking.

“Yes.” the man replied curtly.

“But- but it can’t be…” completely overwhelmed, Harriet broke down into tears.  
*


	3. Finding Hart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: emProfessorem Snaempeme concurs that _Italics are indeed a pain._

Potter, as sharp as she was for an 11-year-old, didn’t seem to know anything about… well, _anything_. Snape was beyond furious. He turned to Petunia, barely holding back his rage as he asked in a low voice, “Why didn’t you tell her?”

Not catching on to his anger the way her husband had done, Petunia returned Snape’s dark look before replying in a haughty tone. 

“The girl’s a freak like my sister, and I don’t want anything like that in my house, near my child. It’s your dangerous and stupid nonsense that got Lily and that worthless husband of hers killed in the first place! If she doesn’t know about it, she can’t-”

“Idiot.” Snape snapped, cutting her off. “The child’s a witch, whether you like it or not. She won’t turn into a muggle just because she doesn’t know about-”

“Of course not!” Petunia shrieked. “That’s not all we’re doing for her! We don’t let her do anything remotely abnormal, we keep her busy around the house, make sure she does all her homework for school, and when she does something freakish, we make sure to punish her severely-”

“What--” 

Ignoring Snape’s tone, Petunia continued with her tirade. “-and it’s working, too. Harriet is a smart, obedient and helpful child. Yes, every now and then something _unfortunate_ happens, but when it does, she accepts her punishments without complaint, because she understands-”

_“Silencio”_

_Two silencing charms in as many minutes, I’d forgotten muggles could be this insufferable._

Snape cleared his throat, exercising an impressive amount of self-control to keep his voice calm and steady. “I’ll be taking Harriet now, as I clearly have some things to explain to her. I’ll return her to Privet drive tomorrow afternoon- the silencing charm should have worn off by then.”

He grabbed Harriet’s arm, hauled her up into a standing position and apparated with a crack.  
*

 

“I’m so sorry, I’ll just get a rag and clean this up-” Harriet murmured, staring down at the well-worn but surprisingly clean carpet in front of her.

_… wait- clean?_

_That’s not-_

“You would do well to remember that we are _wizards_ , Potter. Although, most definitely, had you done this in my classroom and were not in immediate danger of death, you would be cleaning it up yourself and without magic.” 

“That makes sense.” said Harriet, keeping her eyes fixed to the carpet. It was a dusty sort-of blue colour, faded until it was almost grey with odd rectangles of a comparably vibrant turquoise where furniture had no doubt stood for years before being moved somewhere else. 

Harriet had started feeling incredibly nauseous a few seconds after Glaring Man grabbed her, feeling sicker and more lost in confusion as he half-carried her across a street and through a doorway into a small terraced house. When he finally let her go, she collapsed to the floor and threw up everything she’d eaten that day. 

After a long silence, the man finally introduced himself. “I apologise for not introducing myself earlier. My name is Severus Snape, and I am one of the professors at Hogwarts, head of house for Slytherin. I teach Potions.”

He made a drawn out and long-suffering noise before continuing, rubbing his knuckles tiredly across his forehead.

“It took me longer than I thought it would to find you, and this has all been quite unexpected. I’ll prepare the spare room for you. Stay there and _don’t touch anything_.”

Harriet watched Snape leave the small room before staring around. Every wall was lined with bookshelves filled with ancient-looking books of varying shape and size. Even the door Snape had left through was actually a bookshelf on hinges. The rest of the furniture in the room, a table and a sad-looking pair of mismatched armchairs, were crowded in the middle of the room. It looked like the kind of room that had mice. Mr. Snake would love it.

“Mr. Snake!” She cried out suddenly. How could she have forgotten him- if only for a moment? Her only friend, she’d never been away from him for so long. Was he worried? Was he safe? Although she was certain that he would have hated being dragged along with her- the cold, the constant hiding- she started to wish she had brought him. _Oh dear, how am I to get you back now?_

“That’s _Professor_ Sna _p_ e,” an acrid voice came from the bookshelf-doorway. “What is it?”

Harriet jumped up to her feet. “No, no, no. My snake, my friend, my- I left him at home.” She stared worriedly at the Professor before adding, “He’s a common adder, _Vipera Berus_. I read it in a book at school once.”

Professor Snape’s eyebrows shot through the roof. “A pet snake? I can’t imagine the Dursleys letting you keep such a thing!”

“He’s not a pet, he’s my _friend_. And they don’t know about him. Aunt Petunia’d have a fit if she ever found out. I need to see him, he’ll be worried.” Harriet replied stubbornly. 

“I… see.” Professor Snape shook his head. “You’re going home tomorrow afternoon. I’m sure your… _friend_ will be fine until then.”

“No!” Harriet’s voice was high with desperation. “I need him. He’s my only friend.”  
*

“Fine,” Snape found himself saying, “We’ll get him in the morning. It’s late.” He cast a _tempus_ charm, noting Harriet’s eyes widen as he did so. “Past midnight, see? We’ve both had a long day. I’ll show you to the spare room and you will sleep.” 

Potter looked like she was going to continue arguing for a second, but then nodded wearily. 

The Dursleys had truly messed up a day Snape would have preferred to spend in peace and quiet, away from children and with a new book or something. Not playing post-owl, trying to find some hut using a ridiculously vague set of directions. He’d exhausted his knowledge of location charms and still didn’t manage to get there before dusk. 

_Then when I thought the hard part was over_ , Snape massaged his temple again, _utter chaos. Really, the only thing that could be done was get Lily’s daughter out of there- there’s no way I could tell her everything that she needs to know in that idiotic little shack. Do the Dursleys have no sense?_

He shook his head angrily, leading Harriet to the small room filled with hastily shrunken boxes of books and a bed with a dozen or so types of cleaning charms cast on it in quick succession, with the distinct feeling that he was forgetting something important that had nothing to do with _Evanesco_ -ed dust. _Oh, that._

“And- Happy Birthday, Harriet.” He said, shutting the door to the spare room and alarming it with a flick of his wrist before heading to his bedroom to sleep.


	4. Hart to Hart

Blearily forcing her eyes open, Harriet mulled over her recollections of the strange dream she’d had last night, trying to piece the images together. Uncle Vernon yelling in a forest so dark that day became night; Dudley crying in the back of the car while Harriet stared out the window at a river far beneath the suspension bridge while her Aunt and Uncle argued; climbing into a tiny boat as dusk fell and being splashed by freezing cold sea spray; and a man standing over her before handing her one of _those_ letters. 

And the fantastical contents of the letter. 

None of it made any sense, even for a dream. She remembered a dream she’d had about a flying motorbike once. A nightmare. In the dream she’d been held warm and safe in familiar arms, watching the streetlights and cars zoom past beneath her and listening to the loud rumbling of the motorbike’s engine. And then, she was left alone in the cold and dark. 

She was staring out of a window while she was thinking- it was daylight, the window was open and the curtains were pinned back with matching ties. Harriet sat up immediately.

_Where the hell- ?_

She was lying on a bed in a small, cluttered room half taken up with boxes of various sizes stacked neatly to the ceiling. The window was right next to the bed and it looked out over a gloomy street of old brick houses closely sandwiched together. An old woman walking three ridiculously small fluffy dogs was the only sign of life. Harriet shook her head and turned away from the window and towards the bedroom door. She slowly came to realise that her dream had been reality- parts of it, at least- as she remembered being guided to this tiny room by the man, Professor Snape, and remembered kicking her shoes and socks off before huddling under the duvet to sleep, grateful for the warmth. 

Grimacing slightly, Harriet tugged yesterday’s socks back on her feet, picked up her shoes and padded over to the door which made a loud ‘ding’ noise when she opened it.

“Eeee!” She squeaked, and tripped over, falling back into the room and into the pile of boxes. She found herself buried in all manner of objects in a matter of seconds- tiny books and strange-smelling herbs, _and just what is that?_ Harriet struggled to regain footing before flopping onto the floorboards as the pile of indescribable objects levitated themselves off of, away from and out from under her and carefully sorted themselves out in mid-air. She watched the boxes settle on top of and around the bed in neat stacks, her eyes wide and her mouth falling open.

“Get up.” She felt a familiar hand grab her by the top of her arm and drag her to her feet. She tried to turn around to talk to the Professor, but firm hands held her still. “This is why I don’t let anyone in my home,” Professor Snape grouched, “Stay still. You’ve got a mixture of several expensive ingredients stuck to you, _Ganoderma_ Spores and Confused Moth Wings in your hair, honestly…” 

She felt her hair being pulled at but stayed still and silent as directed. She kept her eyes to the floor when the pulling stopped and she was roughly turned around. She felt her chin being lifted and was forced to meet the Professor’s glaring eyes.  
*

“Clumsy idiot. What do you have to say for yourself?” 

_That- that child! Thankfully I’ve salvaged most of the moth wings, those bloody things have more than doubled in price since new regulations on endangered species passed, five galleons a bloody fucking ounce- the broken ones should still be good for something, right? I remember a recipe for-_

“Um, I’m very sorry, Sir. There was a noise when I opened the door, and it startled me, not that that’s any excuse, Sir… I’ll be more careful, I promise.”

Snape found himself missing the arrogant child he’d met at the bus stop. He sighed.

“The bathroom is through the door opposite this one. Leave your clothes in the laundry basket when you take a shower, it’ll clean them for you. We’ll go and pick your… _friend_ up when you’re done. I’ll wait downstairs for you- I trust you can get down the stairs without causing any more chaos?” 

“Yes Sir, sorry Sir,” Harriet quickly ducked out of the room, shoes in hand, across the narrow landing and into the bathroom. 

Snape finished straightening the boxes and cast a few extra charms on them to protect them from falling over again. He re-sized the books he’d missed and carefully levitated them onto the bed before exiting the room and shutting the door carefully behind him. 

When he reached his kitchen/occasional laboratory, he noticed two owls perched opposite each other on the kitchen chairs. He recognised one, McGonagall’s, but the other, a young-ish looking snowy owl, he hadn’t seen before. McGonagall’s owl flapped over to him and allowed him to untie the message- a simple confirmation of his confirmation letter sent when he’d woken up that morning- and Harriet’s train ticket. He left the ticket on the table next to the Hogwarts letter and a small box he’d left there before turning to the other owl, which ignored him. McGonagall’s owl took off from his shoulder and left through the open window, leaving him alone with the unfriendly and unfamiliar snowy. 

After trying and failing to get the snowy to surrender its letter a few times, Snape gave up and boiled the kettle, setting two ancient teacups with faded green-and-white patterns on them down on the wooden table, before adding two teabags to a teapot that only didn’t match when subject to a very close inspection. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Snape noticed Harriet lingering by the kitchen doorway, quiet as the grey lady of Ravenclaw, with long black hair tied back in a plaited bun in an effort to stop it from dripping everywhere. 

He pointed his wand at her and muttered a drying charm, at pretty much the same time that the snowy owl took off from its perch (on top of the highest cupboard) with an excitable ‘skwak!’ and landed on the surprised girl’s head. 

“Looks like that one’s got a message for you, then,” he said, attempting to keep his tone amicable, “Would you like some tea?”

The girl just stared at him. So did the owl. With two yellow eyes and one green eye (she’d covered her left eye with a sticking plaster, he noted) staring at him, Snape remembered that owls were not a common sight in the muggle world, much less an invaluable part of everyday life. He struggled with the best way to explain owl post to her until he remembered an oddly fascinating conversation he’d had with Burbage, the Muggle Studies professor. 

“You’ve heard of pigeon post, right?” The child nodded, the snowy owl flapped its wings and dug in its claws, the child winced. “It’s like that. Wizards use owls to carry messages. You should untie the letter from its leg.”

 _Was the whole day going to be like this?_ He thought, watching the owl hop back down onto the back of a chair and helpfully extend its leg. _Explaining all of the most simple things? Now that I think about it, I really was the worst person Dumbledore could have chosen for this job. It’s not like there are many- or any muggle-raised children in Slytherin- surely McGonagall would be a better choice?_

 _It’s not like she’s going to be in my House, anyway._  
*

Harriet unfurled the letter and blinked at the scruffy handwriting. Who could be writing to her? 

_“Happy Birthday, Harriet!”_ The letter cheerfully started _Oh, so it is,_ Harriet thought.

_“I’d asked Professor Dumbledore to let me take your letter to you since I heard from Professor McGonagall that they’d been having trouble with getting it to you- but he refused. Can’t really say I blame him, I stand out quite a bit, you know”_

_No I don’t,_ thought Harriet, amused.

_“Then he said he’d sent Professor Snape instead, well, I hope that went okay. I figured that I could send you your birthday present since you’re with Snape now. Say hi to him for me, won’t ya? Actually, don’t.”_

Harriet’s bottom lip quivered slightly. _A birthday present? For me?_

_“I knew your parents and you, too, when you were little. I’m really looking forwards to seeing you at Hogwarts this year!_

_“-Hagrid_

_“P.S. Almost forgot. Your present is the Snowy Owl that delivered your letter. You can give her a name. She’s real friendly- I’m sure you two will get on great together.”_

Harriet put the letter down with shaking hands and looked at the owl, who stared back. 

“Hello,” she said timidly, reaching out a hand gingerly and smiling when the owl let her pet her. “Um, I’ve never seen an owl before, but I promise I’ll take good care of you.” 

The owl closed her eyes, leaning into Harriet’s careful touch.  
*

“The owl’s yours?” Snape asked, before glancing down at the letter and snorting. “Hagrid. I should have known.”

The girl turned to him with glittering eyes, on the verge of tears. “You know Hagrid, Sir?” She asked, “Please, tell me about him. The letter- it doesn’t say much. Just that he knew my parents and me when I was little, and that he’ll see me at Hogwarts”

Snape sat down at the table, gesturing for Harriet to do the same. He poured tea for them both while he collected his thoughts, made a decision and steeled himself for what he was about to reveal.

“Yes, I know Hagrid,” he started, “he’s the gamekeeper at Hogwarts, a very large man, you can’t miss him. But I don’t think I need to tell you anymore than that about him, like it said in the letter, you’ll be able to see him soon enough,”

Snape took a deep breath and continued, “I can tell you about your parents, though. We were in the same year at school, and your mother and I- well, your mother and I were childhood friends before we attended Hogwarts.” He gently pushed the dull-looking box that sat in the middle of the table towards Harriet. 

“Open it.”

Harriet, with wide eyes and trembling fingers, did so. Inside lay a silver locket, oval shaped and about two inches long, engraved with a lily flower. Snape didn’t look at it. 

He’d bought it fifteen years ago for the then Lily Evans, as one attempt among many at apologising and a 16th birthday present. When it was rejected he couldn’t bring himself to take it back to the jeweller’s he’d bought it from- no matter how much he’d needed the money at the time- and had eventually left it at the back of a wardrobe to lie almost-forgotten. That is, until last night when he dug it out and fitted an old photo of a 9-year-old Lily Evans into it. Photo-Lily had grinned at him before he shut the locket, and for a brief moment, he felt like all had been forgiven.

Snape stared at his tea like it was the most interesting thing in the world.  
*

The red-haired girl with startling green eyes gave Harriet a dazzling smile and conjured a flower. Harriet wasn’t in the least surprised that a picture in a locket was moving, and had resolved after hearing Professor Snape’s curt and exasperated tone when explaining about the owl to just accept all the strange things around her, within reason. And a moving photo was well within reason, especially when it was a photo of her mother. Harriet watched her mother’s image in silence for a good few minutes before raising her eyes to meet Professor Snape’s. 

“Thank you,” she said in a quiet, genuine voice. 

Professor Snape nodded once, his face betraying no emotion. 

“Do you know how they died?” he asked her in a cautious tone.

Harriet shook her head. “No, not really. Uncle Vernon always said that they died in a car crash, but Aunt Petunia sometimes says, when she-” she cut herself off, not wanting to bring her Aunt’s drinking problem into the conversation, “-I think they were murdered.”

Another nod. “Yes. They were murdered, and everyone in wizarding Britain and beyond knows how they died, who killed them and that even though he tried to kill their only child as well, she survived,” he paused and his eyes searched Harriet’s face, “the curse that took her parents’ lives taking only her left eye, or so the legend goes.”

Harriet’s hand shot up to the plaster covering her eye. She could see through it, of course, having carefully removed the cotton pad from the back of the plaster. The vision in her left eye had always been infinitesimally better than the vision in her right eye, which, to be honest, was more than a little fuzzy. 

“… I have a left eye,” she finally said. 

“I’ve seen it. It would be best to have Madam Pomfrey, that is, the Matron of the hospital wing at Hogwarts, take a look at it at the start of the school year. For now, as it does not seem to be causing you any pain,-” he paused,

“-it doesn’t-” Harriet confirmed,

“-It is not a priority. However, due to your fame that I mentioned before, to avoid any unnecessary questions-”

“Fame?” Harriet asked, eyes narrowed.

Another nod. “Every witch and wizard in this country knows your name, as the Girl-Who-Lived, vanquisher of the Dark Lord. As I was saying, public knowledge of your left eye could draw an inconvenient amount of attention.” 

Professor Snape drew his wand from his sleeve, pointing it at Harriet’s eye before she could react. _What is he- is he going to destroy it-? Because it’s inconvenient?_ She flinched at an odd sensation across her face and brought her hand to her eye.

“That should do for today,” Professor Snape said, as Harriet poked at an eyepatch that had somehow found its way onto her face, “That was an example of a branch of magic known as Transfiguration, which you will be learning. In simple terms, I changed your plaster into an eyepatch, which is far more suitable.” 

Harriet nodded. “Okay. Um, sir, -” she started, but her voice failed her. Part of her was terrified of the answer to the question she was about to ask. She mentally shook herself, and continued- “Who is the Dark Lord? And why did he kill my parents? Why did he try to kill me?”

Professor Snape made a small noise that could have sounded shocked, _No, it couldn’t be_ , before speaking. “It would be best for you not to call him the Dark Lord. Most people refer to him as You-Know-Who or He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Most people, also, do not know his real name, only what he calls himself- ‘Lord Voldemort’-, and they do not know the reason why he chose to attack your home on that night any more than they know how you survived a direct hit with the killing curse. It is the commonly held belief that the Dark Lord killed your parents simply because they opposed him, as he has killed many others who have done the same.”

 _Well that answers none of my questions,_ Harriet thought glumly. “He’s gone now, though?” She asked, “Is he dead?”

“Some think him dead.” _Another answer that wasn’t._

“But you don’t.”  
*

 _Definitely sharp,_ Snape thought, _like Lily was._

He might as well tell her. She would probably _-no, definitely-_ find out in a few years anyway. He slowly rolled up the sleeve on his left arm, staring down at his faded Dark Mark, before lying his arm out across the table for Harriet to see.

“What do you think this mark is?” He asked her, carefully shielding his sense of trepidation.

Harriet, on the other hand, drew a blank. “A tattoo?” She asked, confused.

“What does it tell you about me?” He pressed on.

Harriet blinked and stared at the Mark for a while before speaking. “Er… that, that you… had a rebellious phase when you were younger where you wore leather and rode motorbikes which you now really regret? And that you had awful taste?”

Snape stared.

Harriet fidgeted nervously. 

_It looks like Petunia had more influence on the child than I could have thought possible._

“I have never worn leather _or_ ridden a motorbike.” He said coldly.

“Oh, okay.” Harriet said in a very small voice.

Snape sighed, hating that he felt he had to explain this to an 11-year-old child. “This is called the Dark Mark, and it is worn by the Dark Lord’s followers, who were known as the Death Eaters. This means that I followed the man who murdered your parents, Harriet.”

Snape hadn’t planned on revealing any of this information. Hell, he’d only meant to make sure Harriet received the letter and leave. Now he’d found himself protecting her from her worse-than-useless muggle relatives, taking her into his house, giving her a freaking _birthday present_ , and revealing secrets that no other Hogwarts student was privy to. She may look almost exactly like James, but she reminded him too much of Lily, and in the way she dealt with the Dursleys, she reminded him of himself at that age, the way he dealt with his father. He was certain that beneath her clothes, she bore very similar bruises to the ones he had when he was her age. 

None of this was reason to tell the child that he was a former Death Eater, though.

He swallowed the rest of his lukewarm tea. _What’s done is done._

“But you left him- the Dar- You-Know-Who, didn’t you? You left him before he killed them?”

Snape bowed his head. “Yes. I left the Death Eaters.” He wanted to tell her that he’d turned traitor before James and Lily died, it would have been the truth, but he understood that that was a secret _very few_ people knew- and for good reason. He hoped she wouldn’t pick up on his omission.

He felt a light touch against his hand and looked up at Harriet. She was smiling weakly, and the transfigured eyepatch made her hair bunch up at goofy angles. “Thank you.” She said again.

He returned her smile and stood up. “Now that’s sorted, I think you have a _Vipera Berus_ to introduce me to?

Harriet grinned and jumped up from the table, locked clasped tightly in hand.


	5. Picking up Mr. Snake and Diagon Alley

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: So rich text is a thing, which is useful.   
> A/N: May have finally got tired of the Hart puns.

Harriet pulled away from Snape as soon as they arrived in the dull-looking housing estate that Privet Drive was a part of. She took off running, gone before Snape could make his disapproval known. Sighing, he resigned himself to waiting in the narrow back alley they’d apparated into. It was hidden from view by ugly wooden screen-fences painted a dull, sickening green colour. During his time as a Slytherin student, teacher, and Head of House, he thought he’d seen, and quite liked, every shade of green.  _ It’s really no surprise that this particular green didn’t make its way into the Slytherin common room, _ he decided after a while,  _ my students have far better taste than that. _

 

By the time Harriet had made her way back, Snape was quite proud of himself for exercising the restraint necessary to prevent himself from setting the lines of fencing alight. 

 

She stopped in front of him, smiling, and then-

 

-the next words she said brought the world crashing down around him. Fear flooded his veins, glacial meltwater after a particularly long winter. He stood still as stone even though his knees felt weak and wobbly. 

 

Harriet must have noticed his unease immediately. “Sir? Do you not like snakes? He won’t hurt you, but I can tell him to hide if you want… sir? Sir! Are you okay?” This was followed by more hissing, and Snape backed away slowly.

 

_ This doesn’t make sense- the Potters aren’t, Lily wasn’t- how?  _

 

“Y-you’re a parselmouth,” he finally choked out. “Like him. You’re a parselmouth like  _ he  _ is. I don’t understand how, but-”

 

Slowly, he regained his composure.  _ Harriet can speak to snakes. That’s all. She’s not the Dark Lord, she’s not going to torture or kill me. Stop being an idiot. You’re scaring the child. _

 

Snape took a deep breath and looked at Harriet, and she did indeed look scared and confused. There was a moving bulge in the pocket of her red raincoat that made soft hissing noises and stabbed its nose angrily against the unmoving flap.

 

“I apologise for my outburst.” Snape said quickly, “People with the ability to talk to snakes, or parselmouths, are exceedingly rare. I have only met one other in my life.”

 

“The Dark Lord.” Harriet guessed correctly. 

 

“Yes. Could you introduce me to your friend now?”

 

Harriet gave him a questioning look before opening her pocket with a loud ripping sound. He watched the snake wind itself around her wrist and pause to stare at him, giving a pointed hiss. Harriet glared down at it and hissed back with a reprimanding tone. The snake simply butted her wrist and wrapped itself into what, Snape presumed, was a more comfortable position, flickering its tongue at the air. 

 

“What did he say?” Snape asked, not really wanting to know the answer. He was sure it was something rude. Magical creatures that could speak were known for their lack of respect for humans, and a lack of filter when conveying said lack of respect. 

 

Harriet, predictably, blushed. “He said you smell of fear, a kind of fear he’s never smelt before. And just then, he said that you deserved to be shoved in my pocket for scaring me- with the velcro closed all the way, that is.”

 

The girl stared at the ground, red as her annoying plastic coat. Snape was mildly amused, although part of him was itching to take points from Gryffindor. 

 

“Can you tell him I’m sorry for scaring you, and sorry that he got… pocketed… because of me?” He asked. 

 

He focused on the sound of her hisses while consciously trying to quell the dreadful fear creeping through him like icy electricity and blunt, strangling vines all at once. He forced himself to step forwards to be within a companionable distance of the girl, and look at the snake- a really quite beautiful creature, and not quite yet mature by the looks of it. His scales glittered in the sunlight, in beautiful gold and black patterns. 

 

And Harriet was smiling happily. “He likes you. Do you want to hold him?”

 

Snape found himself smiling for the second time that morning.

*

 

_ “I think it’s scared of you, not me. That’s a first. I’m hungry.”  _

 

_ “I know, and you already said that. Four times- I counted.” _

 

_ “Then feed me. Oh, I smell something interesting. The human’s not near as scared now. Can I see if it has any food? I’m hungry.” _

 

_ “I don’t think he has, but I’ll ask him if he wants to hold you okay? And don’t go down his sleeve or anything stupid.” _

 

_ “You always ruin my fun, Harry.”  _

 

_ “Don’t call me that!”  _ Harriet realised she had a daft grin on her face, the way she always did when she was talking to her best friend. She tried, unsuccessfully, to school her features before looking up at Professor Snape. “He likes you,” she said, thinking  _ that’s not really a lie is it?  _ “Do you want to hold him?”

 

The Professor held out his hand, looking surprisingly more relaxed than he had been a moment ago. Harriet let Mr. Snake slither over- letting another person hold him for the very first time.

 

_ “Don’t go down his sleeve”  _ she hissed.

 

_ “Spoilsport.” _

 

“He’s beautiful,” Snape said before Harriet could threaten the viper any more. “I’ve seen a few before, but never as close as this. How did you find him?” 

 

Mr. Snake lapped up the attention, sending Harriet a quick hiss of  _ “you will tell me everything he said later”  _ before turning his attention fully to Snape.

Harriet reeled of the long and eventful tale of hearing the tiny snake’s frightened pleas for help and managing to distract Dudley by telling him that someone was stealing his new bike. He wasn’t very good at keeping an eye on his things- and Harriet had managed to sneak a few rides on his various mountain bikes herself, and only been caught and beaten up for it once. The lie worked mostly because Dudley’s last bike had indeed been stolen six months ago.

 

She’d picked the tiny creature up off the ground and cradled it gently in her hands when Dudley dropped it carelessly to the floor and whispered “It’s okay, it’s okay Mr. Snake, I won’t hurt you,” over and over again, thankful that it was alive and unharmed by its ordeal. 

 

After that, Mr. Snake was quite happy with his name and wanted nothing more than to stay with Harriet and chase spiders in the cupboard under the stairs. Harriet read everything she could find about snakes- which wasn’t that much, really. Her primary school’s library had been particularly badly stocked. It wasn’t until entering her 6th and final year in primary school that she’d found a battered wildlife reference book in a classroom cupboard and finally identified the now much bigger snake.

 

She’d kept him to herself, mostly out of rational fear that he’d be taken away by interfering adults or her awful classmates, but partly out of jealousy. Mr. Snake didn’t want to talk to anyone else anyway.

 

“... so I thought Mr. Snake was special, not me. I didn’t even realise I was speaking in a different language, although, last month I did speak to another snake so I should have thought then-”

 

Snape nodded along, looking interested despite the long and stumbling re-telling of Harriet’s past with Mr. Snake, who was lying blissed out in his arms as he tickled along the snake’s neck.

 

“How do you think he’ll get along with your owl?” he asked when she finished. “You might have to keep them separate from each other- don’t worry, it’s perfectly feasible.”

 

“I don’t know much about owls,” Harriet admitted. “Mr. Snake agreed not to cause any trouble- as long as she doesn’t steal his food.” 

 

Mr. Snake turned towards Harriet and flickered his tongue.  _ “Yes, I think I approve of this one. A fine choice of mate.” _

 

Harriet looked confused for a second before blushing to the roots of her hair.  _ “W-w-what? N-n-no! Don’t be ridiculous!” _

 

“Was that an insult?” Snape asked, directing an amused glare down at the snake. 

 

“Yeah. Yeah, that was an insult.” 

 

“I won’t ask.” Snape handed Mr. Snake back to Harriet.

 

_ “Not a mate? But you go off somewhere for days and come back with a male-?” _

 

_ “Definitely not! Be quiet, you idiot!” _

*

 

“My lord,” the man whispered, “this is… m-most unadvisable. I think breaking into Azkaban itself would be closer to the realm of what is p-possible. Yes, my lord, let’s b-break into Azkaban and release your followers and then w-we can-”

 

“Enough.” Another voice hissed, and the man whimpered in either fear or agony, quite likely both. “The preparations are nearly finished. Let us go to Diagon alley.”

*

 

Snape had decided on taking muggle transport to London, as apparating was hardly pleasant- especially for a child. He transfigured his robes into something a little more inconspicuous, and now sat in a train carriage half-hidden behind a muggle newspaper dressed in casual black trousers and a grey-ish shirt with too many pockets. He’d had a pleasant conversation with Harriet about almost everything owl-related, the postal system, owl food, his owl, different species of owls, the owls at Hogwarts and so on. Mr. Snake  _ such a ridiculous name for such a beautiful animal _ slept soundly in one of his pockets, because apparently they were more comfortable than the ones on Harriet’s jacket.

 

He’d told her tales of his and Lily’s childhood over coffee and hot chocolate from the train’s onboard shop (which was surprisingly decent) while carefully dodging any questions about James Potter by claiming not to know him very well. By the time they reached London, he’d only told her that her father was Head Boy at Hogwarts, and an exceptionally skilled wizard who fought against Voldemort. Thankfully, the girl seemed far too interested in stories of her mother to notice his subtle deflections. 

 

When they reached their stop, he led her down several streets most of which he didn’t remember ever taking before but managing not to get lost through a mixture of luck and a good sense of direction. Muggle London was far more sprawling and confusing than Hogwarts Castle, but he couldn’t let that show in front of one of his students so he strode ahead as if he knew exactly where he was going. Finally, he reached a familiar street and noticed the dim front of The Leaky Cauldron and made his way towards it.

 

He stopped outside the door and looked down at Harriet. Soon, she would learn just how famous she was in the wizarding world. He sighed inwardly and pushed the heavy door open and gestured for her to go inside. Harriet looked only slightly apprehensive as she stepped inside, and kept close to him as he led her to the back of the pub. Tom, the barman, noticed him immediately despite his effort to stay hidden. 

 

“Can I get you anything?” He asked, voice coldly polite. 

 

Snape was about to refuse and be on his way when he heard a small hungry noise from besides him. Harriet had her arms clasped tight around her midriff as if she could stop her stomach from growling by strangling it. 

 

Snape sighed. “Two soup and sandwiches, please, and a pot of tea.” He counted out the sickles and slid them across the counter.

 

Tom smiled. “Don’t often see you with one of your students, Snape.” 

 

_ You don’t see me often with or without a student,  _ he almost wanted to snarl back, but immediately thought better of it. “This one’s a special case.” He replied.

 

Tom nodded and looked over the bar at Harriet, who was staring at a sign in the corner and immediately snapped her eye to him when she felt his gaze. 

 

“By the gods-” Tom started, predictably awestruck. “Is this- are you-?”  __

 

“Yes, she is. Keep it quiet, could you?” Snape snapped, giving the barman a warning glare.

 

Tom nodded dumbly and Harriet shot him a grateful look before letting Snape guide her to a table in a quiet corner. 

*

 

Despite Tom’s best efforts, they didn’t escape the pub unnoticed. Harriet had barely finished her serving of the leek and potato soup the barman had served them with an awestruck smile when  _ Purple Hat  _ of all people appeared in front of their table and grinned at her. 

 

_ Oh, the peacock feathers have broken,  _ she noted, taking a bite out of her cheese sandwich. 

 

“Professor Snape, Miss Potter!” He bowed to each of them excitedly. “Fancy seeing you here, of all places!” 

 

Snape had an indecipherable scowl on his face, but gestured for the stranger to sit anyway. It seemed they knew each other. 

 

And Mr. Snake chose that exact moment to extract himself from Snape’s pocket and slither onto the table, giving the cheese sandwich a hopeful look. Harriet beamed at him and broke a corner of the cheese off for her friend.  _ “Just a little bit. I don’t want you throwing up in Professor Snape’s pocket.”  _

 

Purple Hat raised his eyebrows and continued in a less confident tone “I’m Dedalus Diggle, ever so pleased to make your acquaintance,” he said to Harriet, offering his hand to shake.

 

Harriet quickly wiped the crumbly cheese off her fingers with a napkin and shook his hand, sending Snape a confused glance. “I’m Harriet,” she said, though it was clearly unnecessary. 

 

“I met you a few months ago,” she added, feeling lost. “In a shop.”

 

“You remember?” Diggle squeaked, oblivious to the snake sliding closer to him. “Did you hear that Tom? She remembers me!” 

 

Harriet looked up at Tom, who was hovering behind Diggle and gave him a warm smile. Tom returned the smile with a flash of his toothless gums and started clearing the dishes away. “You’ll be going to Hogwarts this year, then? Here to get your supplies?” Harriet nodded. Neither Tom nor Diggle seemed to care about the foot-and-a-bit-long snake exploring the table. Tom even swatted Mr. Snake’s tail out of the way, and Diggle was letting him sniff his fingers. Snape looked only mildly uncomfortable and gave Diggle a brief nod before retreating. 

 

Harriet found herself at the centre of attention long before Professor snape returned with his robes changed back to normal. She’d shaken more hands than she could count and even Mr. Snake got given a handful of owl treats, which he snacked down on happily. 

 

“We should leave now. Gringotts first.” Snape said curtly, his glare having returned. Harriet nodded gratefully and looked over to Mr. Snake, who was letting a witch by the name of Doris Crockford tickle his chin.  _ “Come on, we’re going.”  _ she hissed loudly. 

 

Mr. Snake turned and started to slither back to her.  _ “Okay, okay.” _

 

The small crowd went completely silent.

 

Snape put a hand on Harriet’s shoulder, but didn’t say a word as the snake slithered over towards him.

 

Diggle was the first to speak up. “So- she is a parselmouth then- a real parselmouth?” he asked.

 

“I am.” Harriet said, quietly as she picked up on the frightened atmosphere in the pub. “But I didn’t know that there was anything strange about that until today.” 

 

Snape had picked up Mr. Snake and proceeded to shove him in his pocket, gently guiding Harriet away from the crowd as he did so. Harriet let him lead her away, giving her new acquaintances a tenuous smile.  _ No matter how strange the world gets, I’ll always be a freak.  _ She didn’t question the small brick courtyard Snape led her to, and the wall opening up to reveal a bustling street on the other side barely surprised her. 

 

“People will get used to it soon enough.” Snape said eventually, when they were out in the street. Harriet looked around in amazement. Diagon Alley was full of quirky old buildings and colourful shops selling the strangest things. Part of her strongly wanted to pull away and investigate, explore and lose herself in the crowd. She settled for staring instead. An angry Professor Snape was a terrifying thing, after all. 

Gringotts bank was at the opposite end of the street to The Leaky Cauldron, and Harriet had never seen such a grand-looking building in her life. Harriet stopped and grinned widely as she read the poem on the bank’s doors, causing Snape to make an annoyed noise. Pushed along, Harriet stumbled up the steps and came face-to-face with a strange-looking short man wearing a red uniform.

 

“Um, s-sorry sir,” she stuttered and ducked out the way, realising that the man was even shorter than she thought because he was standing a few steps above her.

 

“Gringotts is run by Goblins.” Snape said, by way of explanation.

 

“R-right.”  _ Goblins? Goblins. _ “Are all wizarding banks run by Goblins?” She asked.

 

“There’s just the one. There are a few branches around the world, all run by and primarily staffed by Goblins.” 

 

_ Goblins. What else really exists? _

 

“Um, Professor?” She asked as she was being led towards a counter in the building.

 

“Yes?”

 

“Do elves exist?”

 

“Of course they do. I don’t bother with them, myself.” 

 

Harriet gave a nervous laugh, which was cut short when they reached a counter and were being surveyed with an eagle-eyed stare by the goblin clerk. Snape slid a small, shining key over the polished wooden countertop and said in a smooth voice, “A withdrawal from the Potter vault, and I believe you got Dumbledore’s message about the item in Seven-One-Three.”

 

The goblin nodded and summoned a colleague after peering at the key for a few seconds and handing it back to Snape. “Everything is in order. Griphook will take you to the vaults.”

 

They were waved away and another customer- a witch with bushy silver hair under a large pointed turquoise hat- stepped forwards.

 

The route to the vaults was  _ interesting _ and involved riding a minecart down a narrow tunnel. Harriet thought she could hear Mr. Snake hissing obscenities over the speedy trundling of iron wheels. 

 

When the cart finally stopped, Snape stepped out of it like he’d just been sitting on a park bench for a while, not zooming at ever increasing speeds down twisting tunnels and around hairpin bends that made Harriet’s head spin. 

*

 

Harriet wished she’d bought a book or something before being pushed into ‘Madam Malkin’s Robes for All Occasions’ and left alone with the proprietor while Professor Snape (with a grumbling Mr. Snake in his pocket) left to take care of ‘important business’. 

 

Standing on a stool while an assistant measured her gave her a view of the door of the shop, and she could see a little of the outside. The windows were full of bolts of material and mannequins on display, so impossible to see through. The door opened and a boy with a whiny voice walked through, still arguing with his parents on the street outside. “ _ But Mother,  _ can’t you wait with me? It’s going to be  _ so  _ dull on my own. And the-”

 

“Nonsense, Draco. Look, there’s already another child your age in there. You might even be in the same House together. Do try to make friends, darling.” A refined woman replied in a bored tone, scanning the interior of the shop and nodding towards Madam Malkin. 

 

“But Mother!”

 

Draco’s mother simply kissed him on the cheek, pushed him the rest of the way in the shop, and left. Draco was soon herded onto another stool besides Harriet. Harriet’s eyes darted around nervously, unsure if she should say anything. She kept away from other children most of the time- the kids at school believed the Dursley’s lies about her that they’d either heard second-hand from their own parents, from Dudley, or most likely both. But the Dursleys had no influence here. 

 

“Hullo. You’re a Hogwarts first-year too?”

“Yes.”

 

The boy prattled on about his parents for a while and Harriet breathed a sigh of relief. It didn’t look like she’d have to talk much, if at all.

 

“... have you got your own broom?” he asked.

 

“No.”  _ That sounds like fun. Pretty sure the letter said they weren’t allowed for first years though.  _ “First years aren’t allowed them though, are they?”

 

The boy looked indignant. “I just said that. Are you even listening to me? As I was saying…” he continued talking, this time about some kind of game and how he’s  _ really good  _ at it and will  _ most definitely _ be playing for Slytherin.

 

“Slytherin’s the House with the snake emblem, right?” she said, feeling like she should add something to the conversation.

 

“Well, yes. And it’s the best House in Hogwarts, and I’m certain I’ll be in it. My father was, my mother was, my grandfather was, my…”

 

Harriet nodded along. “Do you know why it has a snake?” she asked, curious.

 

“Oh, that’s simple. Salazar Slytherin, one of the founders of Hogwarts was a parselmouth -and that means he can talk to snakes. Could you imagine being able to talk to snakes?”

 

Harriet grinned at that. “Maybe I’ll be in Slytherin then.” 

 

“Oh? Were your parents in Slytherin?”

 

Harriet shook her head. “Both in Gryffindor.”  _ Whatever that means.  _

 

“Well, it happens. I have a cousin on my mother’s side that was sorted into Gryffindor years and years ago. He ran away from his home not long after and we don’t talk about him.” 

 

Harriet’s eyebrows nearly flew off her forehead. “Just because he was sorted into Gryffindor? Houses are that important?”

 

“Pretty much. I think I’d be too ashamed to come home if I was sorted into Hufflepuff. Ravenclaw wouldn’t be too bad though. Oh! Do you see that man over there?” He pointed at the door.

 

“Professor Snape?” she asked.

 

“You know him? He’s my Godfather, and a potions genius.” Draco said smugly.

 

“Oh. That’s nice-” she started, before the witch measuring her tapped her arm and signalled for her to step down from the stool. “It was nice talking to you, Draco,”  _ or listening to you, anyway. _

 

She fiddled with the unfamiliar currency and managed to count out the right amount, hefting a large bag of clothes onto her shoulder and turning towards the door.

 

“Wait! You didn’t tell me your name!”

 

Harriet turned around by the doorway and smiled. “It’s Harriet.” She said, and left before he could react.

*


	6. Hogwarts Express (Part One)

Professor Snape had reluctantly dropped Harriet off back at Privet Drive, making sure to give some parting advice to the Dursleys that was mostly barely concealed threats. Vernon boggled at the owl, now named ‘Hedwig’ for a historical figure Harriet had read about on the train ride back. Harriet shoved the trunk full of school supplies in the Cupboard, quite happy that it was being used as a storage space instead of her bedroom. Her new bedroom was very small, yes, and it still had spiders, to Mr. Snake’s glee, but she could stand up without hitting her head on the ceiling, which was a considerable bonus.

Surprisingly, Mr. Snake and Hewig got on quite well, with Hedwig even bringing Mr. Snake little ‘snacks’ which he was very grateful for. Harriet worried that he would get fat, and had a nightmare about Mr. Snake turning into a ridiculous round ball, having to be carried everywhere in Hedwig’s cage, and Draco, the pale boy she met in Madam Malkin’s, using him as a ‘Quaffle’.

This was a more pleasant nightmare than the ones she’d had after reading one of the books she’d bought at Flourish and Blotts, _Modern History: The Rises and Falls of the Dark Lords of the 20th Century Compared_ by _Maximus Egill,_ and learning about Grindelwald and Voldemort and the horrors they had brought to the world. Seeing her parents’ names and own name in such a horrifying book along with the names of mass-murdering psychopaths made her feel ill.

She’d bought a few books that weren’t on the reading list, wanting to learn more about the world she’d been ignorant of for so long and terrified of how behind the rest of her classmates she’d be. And the quite ridiculous amount of gold in her bank vault may as well be used for something. She’d quite enjoyed a couple of books she’d picked up because of the strange titles and the two-for-one offer on Lockhart books, _Wanderings with Werewolves_ and _Gadding with Ghouls_. They were written in an amusing and overly-dramatical style that made each chapter different and exciting. When she finished them, she wished she had bought more. They made a nice break from terrorism and madmen ranting about eugenics and supremacy.

When she’d asked Professor Snape for recommendations, he’d just shook his head so she added a couple more books to the pile, _Quidditch Through the Ages_ and _Hogwarts: A History_ and finished making her purchase. She was then quite surprised to be led to a second-hand bookstore where the professor pointed out several out-of-print tomes on potions theory, in a way that could be considered enthusiastic. She’d made sure to study all of the potions books very carefully when she got them home, often falling asleep with one on her pillow, not only because the potions professor could be beyond terrifying and she really didn’t want to get on his bad side, but she also found the subject fascinating.

Thankfully, the Dursleys seemed to be completely ignoring her, her owl and her books. Harriet almost felt like she could stop doing her chores and they wouldn’t notice. She didn’t, though.

* 

Green flames flickered through the comforting orange, suddenly bursting forth in emerald washes as if a bucketful of crushed blue vitriol had been thrown into the fireplace. Albus’s expression softened when he saw the image of his student, spy, and confidant’s face flare into view. Whatever Severus had to say would surely make a welcome break from doing Cornelius’ work for him to avoid having to deal with too much ministry business during term time.

“Albus.” Severus’s voice was low and foreboding, and the old man stopped smiling instantly. “How could you. How could you leave Lily’s daughter with those… those muggles?” Severus choked on his rage, betrayal and anger palpable through the hazy floo connection.

“Petunia and Vernon?” Albus blinked. “They’re her only living relatives, and the blood connection to Lily means that I could create strong protective wards using-”

“Do you have any idea-” Severus cut him off, “-how they treat her? They didn’t even tell her about magic, Albus, she was told her parents died in a bloody car crash! And they punish her for accidental magic! They beat her! She’s a shadow of herself when she’s under their influence- like she’s dying on the inside… I… gods, Albus… they’re just like my father.” 

Albus froze. “I never thought…” he started, horrified.

There was a long silence between them as Albus tried to get his thoughts in order and away from cabinet reshufflings and policy proposals. _That was a lie,_ he thought, _I had thought that the Dursleys would be less than accepting of their niece- that night when Lily and James died, but I pushed that thought away, ignored everyone who said otherwise and placated them with the same things he’d told himself. The only voices I could never placate were the voices no-one could hear- the voices of the dead. Thinking back to all those years ago, when Lily and James were still alive, and had just joined the Order- the low lights, the scent of firewhisky in the air, the crackling fire, as Lily told in exaggerated detail the story of her and James having dinner with Petunia and her then-fiance, Vernon. James looked apologetic in the right places and everyone had laughed, and Arthur Weasley had looked intrigued._  

 _I hoped that the Dursleys wouldn’t take out their dislike of the abnormal out on a child, but I can’t lie to myself- or others- that I never considered the possibility. I should have…_ “This is all my fault, Severus,” he said in a quiet, broken voice. “Thank you for telling me. Is she okay for the summer?”

Severus looked _bamboozled,_ would be the word, and Albus had to wonder if he’d ever admitted he was wrong about something before. If so, it was certainly not in front of Severus. Albus watched him regain his composure and clear his throat. “Yes, I made sure of it. However, there is a different matter that is greatly concerning- one I would rather not discuss over a floo connection. May I come through?”

Albus nodded, “Certainly, my boy,” he said, and lifted the wards on his fireplace. Not a second later, Severus stood on his tastefully patterned hearth rug (violet and bright rapeseed yellow just go _so_ well together) spelling the soot out of his robes.

“She has two eyes, Albus.” He said, without segue.

“Two eyes? You mean-?”

“Yes. Her left eye is- different, somehow, but it’s definitely there. I asked Petunia about it and she was terrified. She says that she remembers that she had only one eye when she found her on her doorstep- had one eye when she took her to the pediatrician later that day- but the next day, she had two. Only she and Vernon knew about this, as the pediatrician was simply too overworked to remember. I don’t understand, Albus, and there’s another thing I don’t understand. She’s a parselmouth.”

Albus shook his head tiredly and stood up, walking over to a cabinet. “I think I need to see all this for myself. Do you mind, Severus?” He opened the cabinet and took out an empty glass vial.

Severus nodded. “That would be the best.” He accepted the vial when his mentor handed it to him, touching his wand to his temple and drawing out a thin, shimmering strand of memory, which he lowered into the tiny glass container before handing it back over. Dumbledore stoppered the bottle before placing it next to an old stone basin that sat pride of place in the cabinet, before shutting the cabinet doors.

“Tea?” asked Dumbledore.

Severus shook his head. “Everything’s there. I have no reason to stay.”

*

***

**ANOTHER TIME, ANOTHER PLACE**

**Erica tried to relax in the needlessly comfortable chair she’d been directed to sit in.** **_It would be best to relax, here, because it is safe and no-one can hurt me,_ ** **she repeated to herself, but it didn’t help. Jingyi-jie gave her an understanding smile, one that said that things would get better with time. Erica still felt sick and worried and most of all, she didn’t want to talk.**

**Most of her sessions with the petite, raven haired woman were spent either in silence or talking about trivial things that didn’t matter much. How her husband had already bought little romper suits for the child growing inside her, even though it would be some time yet before they were needed, how the food here was much different to what she had expected and how she enjoyed the challenge of learning to cook it, how the speed limit on brooms was starting to get on her nerves- while deflecting the questions that tried to get her to talk about what she really should be talking about- how she nearly got her child killed with herself, the need for distraction, the need to fly so fast that nothing else mattered.**

**“This place, this city, it’s almost perfect. It’s everything I dreamed of and more,” she finally said, giving in. “Sometimes I can’t help thinking that this is everything** **_he_ ** **promised, and I can’t help thinking that** **_he_ ** **could have achieved it. Then I force myself to remember- and I don’t feel regret any more, only regret for ever believing** **_his_ ** **lies. But I still feel awful- everything that should make me happy makes me feel awful. Everything beautiful, it torments me.”**

**The woman across from her smiled, finally having made her breakthrough. “Have you read about our history yet?” she asked carefully.**

**Erica shook her head. “I was planning to. We’ve got some books at home, and Ekhardt was going to help me with the translation charms but he’s been busy lately-”**

**“Oh, I can help you with that!” Erica met the woman’s eyes to see that they had lost some of their professional distance. “Don’t worry, Erica, I’ll do it as a friend- we are colleagues after all, there’s no need to pay me for extra time or anything. I’ll drop by after five, okay?”**  

**_A friend._ **

**Erica hadn’t been expecting to make friends in this strange, new place they’d moved to. She allowed herself a smile and clasped the healer’s hand in hers.**

**“Fei chang gan xie ni, Jingyi-jie.” she replied gratefully.** *

 

(* _Thank you, Jingyi_ )

*******

*****

“ _I’m not at all sure about this…”_ her friend hissed, as Harriet made her way along the narrow train gangway. _“There are too many cats around for my liking, and those owl-birds look quite dangerous.”_

 _“Stop worrying,”_ she hissed back under her breath, not wanting to draw any attention to her unusual gift, _“I read that Hogwarts is an enormous castle, so you might not have to run into any cats, and you like Hedwig. Anyway, you can always stick close to me if you’re scared.”_

After having met the Weasley family, Harriet was starting to feel a little more confident about life at Hogwarts. She’d imagined that the students would be stuck-up and judgemental and she’d have to be careful not to make a single mistake or show any weakness at all. Even so, she still wore her hair across her face, concealing her eyepatch and her identity. Apart from when the Weasley twins helped her put her trunk onto the baggage cart, she was sure that no-one had recognised her.

Happy to find an empty compartment, she gently placed Hedwig’s cage, complete with its sleeping occupant inside and a slightly pricey noise-cancelling cage cover outside on a seat and sat down between it and the window. She grinned when she noticed the twins teasing their older brother who was, apparently, a Prefect. 

“Hey, Mum, guess what? Guess who we just met on the train?” Harriet shrunk into herself slightly.

“Who?”

“Harriet Potter!”

Harriet listened carefully, half hidden behind the curtain, desperately curious. Thankfully, Mrs. Weasley seemed to be a far more sensible person than those in the Leaky Cauldron.

 _“I wonder what they’ll think of me when they hear I’m a parselmouth?”_ she asked Mr. Snake as their conversation drifted away from her. _“Do you think they’ll be scared like Professor Snape?”_

_“He got over it pretty quick though, didn’t he? He didn’t smell at all scared after he first met me, you know.”_

Harriet nodded and yawned. _“I didn’t get any sleep last night. Think I’ll take a nap now.”_

She barely heard her friend’s hissed approval before drifting into unconsciousness. A sharp rapping noise woke her some unknown amount of time later, and she realised the train had started moving. A red-headed boy- Ron Weasley, opened the compartment door.

“Sorry to wake you,” he said, “Do you mind if I sit here? Everywhere else is full.”

Harriet shook her head sleepily. “It’s fine.” She said, checking her surroundings. Mr. Snake was curled around her neck under her jumper and she’d fallen asleep sitting upright, with her face half buried in the curtains. At least she hadn’t drooled on anything.

“You’re really her, aren’t you?” Ron said, unable to stop himself.

Harriet nodded. After an awkward question about her parent’s murder they settled into a friendly and interesting conversation. Ron complained about his second hand robes, handed-down wand, and lazy pet rat. Harriet started to feel a little uncomfortable about her new and expensive purchases on display and hoped the boy wouldn’t think ill of her for it. It wasn’t like she was showing off Hedwig’s top-of-the-line birdcage and cover, she told herself. She thought about Draco, and how he’d probably have no issue with boasting about his wealth, and shuddered.

“What is it?” Ron asked, concerned.

“An unpleasant thought,” she replied, and told Ron about the Dursleys to try and make him feel better. “ ...they didn’t like magic, or anything unusual- they’d even gossip about other muggles that dressed differently or liked different music- and you should’ve heard what they said when there was a rumour about one of my primary school teachers being gay- I think they tried to get him sacked!”

“Was he?” asked Ron. 

“Dunno. He left after I turned his toupee green, though, which was a pity as he was fairly decent as teachers go.” Harriet shrugged, dislodging the sleeping serpent. 

“Why on earth would you do... t-that...” Ron went pale and stuttered, as unknown to Harriet, Mr. Snake had poked his head out from under her jumper and was tasting the air around him with a flickering tongue.

“Well, we’d found out his hair wasn’t real when it fell off during P.E. that day, and his history lesson was so boring that I was just watching his toupee trying to see any difference- Ron, are you okay?”

“Don’t move… there’s… there’s a bloody great snake around your neck!” Ron shrieked.

“Of course there is. This is my beloved friend, Mr. Snake. Um, I should probably tell you I can speak to snakes too, so please don’t freak out. He won’t hurt anyone.”

 _“Who is the noisy one?”_  

“Okay… okay… I’m not freaking out. At least he’s not a tarantula or anything, then I would definitely freak out. But you’re a parselmouth? That’s huge. It’s really rare, and the only parselmouths I’ve heard of are-”

“Dark wizards, I know. _His name’s Ron Weasley, and you will be nice to him._ ”

“Wow. What did you say?” Ron asked, looking a little shaken. 

“I told him to behave himself. He’s not really used to other people yet, because I had to keep him hidden from the muggles. My relatives still don’t know I have him- even though they know I have an owl now. I guess I’ll tell them I picked him up at Hogwarts when I go back for the Summer.” She tickled Mr. Snake’s neck as she was talking, and he slithered down onto the seat.

 _“Is this one your mate?”_ he hissed, flickering his tongue out briefly.

Harriet glared at him. _“No. Stop asking that.”_

Ron gave her a curious look, and Harriet sighed irritably. “He asked if you were my mate. I’m afraid he’s that age, you see, he’ll probably find a female this year. I nearly stopped breathing when he asked if Professor Snape was my mate.” she chuckled weakly, and Ron spluttered.

“P-professor Snape? My brothers say he’s terrifying. That must have been awful… why were you with Snape, anyway?”

Harriet launched into the tale of Uncle Vernon’s ridiculous road-trip, and had only just reached the part where Professor Snape had silenced her noisy cousin when she was interrupted by a loud clattering noise, and a smiling witch pushed the door to their compartment back. 

“Anything off the trolley, dears?”

Ron turned away, muttering something about sandwiches. Harriet, pleased that she hadn’t spent all the money she’d got out at Diagon alley, bought a few of everything. She had to insist on Ron sharing the various sweets she bought, distracting him from his protests by getting him to talk about chocolate frogs and the collectable cards hidden in their packets. Soon enough they’d finished half of the sweets she’d bought, and Mr. Snake had curled up and gone back to sleep on top of a pile of discarded sweet wrappers.

“Harriet, your snake’s got a weird bulge in him.” Ron commented. Harriet looked over at him, and sure enough he had a large bulge in his midriff. 

“He must’ve eaten some sweets- I’ll ask him, better not’ve been anything poisonous,” she grumbled, poking the greedy snake awake.

 _“Must you wake me?”_ Mr. Snake hissed grumpily.

 _“What did you eat? I warned you against eating weird things, didn’t I? You could get sick, or worse.”_ Harriet chided.

_“It’s just a rat. Nothing to worry about. Now can I sleep? This one will take some digesting.”_

Harriet sighed in relief. “He found a rat. This train seems really clean so it’s surprising that there’d be rats, but I suppose they get everywhere…” and then it dawned on her. “Oh. Oh God. Oh God, I’m so sorry, _spit it up, spit it up right this instant_ I’m sorry, I’m sorry _spit it up or I swear to God…”_  

Ron’s face had turned white, his mouth half open, and his eyes were popping out of his sockets. 

_“If you insist…”_

With a frightfully disgusting noise, Ron’s rat, Scabbers, was slowly ejected onto the pile of sweet wrappers. The poor creature was sticky, wet, and from a glance, quite dead looking. Harriet hesitantly reached out to the still-warm body before her, gently touching her fingers to the sticky fur. No pulse, no breath. “I think he’s dead. I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry?” Ron bellowed. “You’re sorry? Your freaking snake just ate my rat!”

Harriet flinched away, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. “I… I…”

The compartment door slid open before she could think of what to say.

“Is everything okay in here?” a girl’s voice said. Harriet turned around to see two worried looking students, other first-years, it looked like.

“Has anyone seen my toad?” the boy asked. Harriet shook her head, tears dripping down her face.

“You’d better find your toad before her snake murders it.” Ron said angrily.

With a choked sob, Harriet picked up Hedwig’s cage, Mr. Snake having quickly retreated up her sleeve, and fled the compartment.

Wandering down the gangway, feeling more than a little unsure of where she was heading- only that she didn’t want to go back and since this was a train, the only other ways were forwards or into a compartment full of students. Hedwig had woken up, and was shifting around inside her cage. Harriet walked glumly on, wondering what she’d do when she reached the other end of the train.

“Hey, Harriet! Harriet! Are you alright?” a familiar voice called out. She spun around.

“Draco?” The pale boy was flanked by two much larger boys that looked around the same age. They stayed silent, like well-trained bodyguards, or boulders. She had a feeling the latter comparison was the more applicable. 

“You don’t look alright. Crabbe, Goyle, go back to the others.” he ordered, and wordlessly, the boulders left. “What happened? Did someone pick on you?”

“N-no- It’s- w-well, my snake ate Ron’s rat-” she started cautiously, trying to keep her voice from breaking.

“Ron? As in Weasley? Never mind that, we can hardly talk in the middle of the corridor like this-” he paused and looked around, before opening the door to a compartment in which three older students were loudly snoring. “All the rest are full, so this’ll have to do.” 

Harriet nodded gratefully, stepping inside the compartment.

*

 

Neville tried his best to comfort Ron, although he was hardly in a better state himself. _Trevor could be squished somewhere, flung out a window to never be seen again, chopped up for potions ingredients, or maybe he’d already run afoul of Mr. Snake like poor Scabbers._

“I mean, I’ve only had him for a couple of months but we were starting to bond, you know? I complained about him a lot but he was growing on me… and… and now…” Ron sobbed, attempting to clean his dead pet’s body with his sleeve.  

“Was that really Harriet Potter?” Hermione asked, somewhat tactlessly, “I’ve read about her, she’s in three of the books I bought for some background reading. Deflecting a killing curse- apparently that’s impossible- there’s no shield or countercurse that would stand up against it. But it happened anyway, so there must be some way that we don’t-”

“Hermione!” Neville squeaked.

“Oh. I’m sorry. It’s just so fascinating. But she has a snake? I’m pretty sure snakes aren’t allowed as pets at Hogwarts- just cats, owls, toads or rats.”

“She has an owl too.” Ron muttered. “Probably can get away with it ‘cause she’s the Girl-Who-Lived or some other nonsense.”

“But that’s not fair! Everyone should abide by the same rules!” Hermione said in an indignant voice. “I’ll speak to a teacher about the snake- it’s clearly dangerous.”

*

 

The sound of angry yelling woke Nero Bulstrode first, who blinked rapidly while trying to figure out what was going on. At first, he thought his sister was throwing another tizzy, but then he recognised Malfoy’s voice and remembered he was on the Hogwarts Express.

“You can’t just decide that people aren’t worth anything like that! It’s wrong!” a girl yelled.

“Are you seriously defending _Weasley_ of all people? After I-” Malfoy _what was his name again? Dario? Diego?_ said, indignant.

“I didn’t think you were so low as to insult his family like that! You-” The girl started crying and ran out of the compartment just before Flint straightened up and added to the yelling.  
“Bloody first years! What the hell do you think you’re doing? Oh… Malfoy, my apologies. Didn’t realise it was you…” _The brown-nosed dunderhead_ , Nero thought, and let unconsciousness reclaim him.


	7. Hogwarts Express Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A

Draco closed the compartment door behind them with a click, and Harriet looked nervously at the three older boys slumped lazily against each other, and snoring out of time with each other. 

“I don’t think we’ll wake them,” Draco said, “not with the din they’re making anyway.”

Harriet nodded. She was used to sneaking around when others were asleep. Mr. Snake reared up slowly and tasted the air.

_ “Don’t even say it,”  _ Harriet hissed,  _ “I’m not in the mood for your ridiculousness.”  _

_ “...fine.”  _ was the glum reply.

Draco’s mouth hung open for a good few seconds before he spoke. “I… no wonder you said you thought you’d be in Slytherin. Imagine that. The Girl-Who-Lived, vanquisher of the Dark Lord, a parselmouth!” he laughed quietly, mindful of their snoring audience.

Harriet smiled at him and held out her hand, with the sulking adder entwined around her wrist. “Do you want to pet him? He’s in a bit of a bad mood at the moment because I made him throw up Ron’s rat, but he won’t hurt you.”

*

 

Draco slowly reached out and gasped when Mr. Snake slithered over onto his hand and up his sleeve. “Does he usually do that?” he asked, making no move to remove the trespassing reptile.

“He knows I’m mad at him and he’s not very polite,” said Harriet, “obviously, given that he just murdered Scabbers without a second thought. I don’t think Ron will ever forgive me.” She started sobbing again, and Draco awkwardly put a hand on her shoulder.

“You don’t need the forgiveness of someone like him,” he said, “and it’s not like you told your snake to kill his rat or anything- it wasn’t your fault.” 

Draco guided the crying girl to an unoccupied seat and spent a few minutes trying to comfort her, offering a handkerchief to wipe away her tears which was gratefully accepted. He didn’t ask when she ran the handkerchief under her eyepatch, looking away despite his curiosity. He wondered what remained of that blasted-away eye, because it seemed that the tear ducts had remained intact, before shaking such thoughts out of his head.  _ It’s probably not a pretty sight, whatever it is. Best not to pry. _

He redoubled his efforts in comforting Harriet, noticing that she liked to talk about snakes and only knew a little about them, and hid his disgust well when she pulled a battered muggle book out of her pocket,  _ The Observer’s Book of Wild Animals of the British Isles,  _ and revealed it as her source for all her knowledge on snakes. Draco was quick to recommend a few books by wizarding authors which would be far superior. Harriet seemed to sense his disdain anyway, and clutched the tiny muggle book closely to her chest. 

It only got worse from then on. Attempting to lighten the mood, Draco returned to insulting Ron- Harriet laughed at his jokes at first, but grew silent and withdrawn as he told her about the truly ridiculous Weasley family, repeating some of his father’s best jokes about them. During one particularly hilarious (or so Draco thought) tale that involved a muggle grass-cutting device and a visit to St. Mungo’s, Harriet snapped.

After her outburst and subsequent hasty withdrawal, Draco was left stunned, minus a handkerchief and plus a still-sleeping snake.

“Did you get a snake, Malfoy? Must be nice having a father on the board of governors- doubt any of us could’ve got away with it.” Pucey asked with a yawn, Bulstrode still drooling on his shoulder. Flint had woken as well, and Draco thought he’d said something but honestly couldn’t remember what it was.

“Yeah, it’s nice.” Draco muttered, wondering if Mr. Snake  _ such a stupid name  _ would be annoyed enough to bite him if he didn’t get him back to Harriet before he woke up.

*

 

Harriet didn’t think she’d got far before a compartment door slammed back and an arm shot out and grabbed her, and she was dragged into the compartment. Hedwig flapped and complained in her cage at such rough treatment.

“Hey, Harriet.” 

“Heard Scabbers croaked it.”

“Don’t worry about Ronniekins…”

“… he’ll get over it…”  

“… eventually.”

*

 

Adrian tried to shake Nero awake but the older boy just flopped gracelessly onto his lap. He would have caressed his boyfriend’s soft, black hair if the Malfoy brat wasn’t still hanging around. Adrian Pucey was well aware that some people had unpleasant views on his kind, and he silently cursed himself for not having the foresight to gather information on some of the more prominent wizarding families’ public statements in regards to homosexuality. He started a relationship with Nero Bulstrode at the end of last year and he’d carefully controlled who knew about them since. He doubted Nero would care if the entire school knew about their attachment to each other, with his above-the-fray attitude- but Adrian preferred some control over the situation. 

Malfoy was staring at the snake around his wrist as if he didn’t know how it got there, before Marcus Flint piped up. “An Adder, huh? Does it have a name?”

Malfoy went pink. “He’s called Mr. Snake. I didn’t name him, of course.” 

Marcus sniggered at that. “You should just choose another name.”

Malfoy nodded distractedly. “I think I’ll just call him ‘Mister’ for now. I’m sorry for disturbing you.” He nodded to them and left, school robes swirling behind him. 

“Little brat.” Adrian muttered, when the door shut. 

Marcus grinned, stretching out. “Play nice, Pucey. You know he’ll be on the team next year- I heard Lucius boasting to my father about how good a flier he is.”

Adrian groaned at that. “And even if he’s terrible, his father will buy his place on the team.”

“Well,” Marcus said with a conspiratorial smirk, “we might as well make the best of it. Some new brooms wouldn’t hurt.”

Laughing, Adrian punched his best friend on the shoulder. “If you put half the mind you put towards Quidditch to your studies instead, you wouldn’t be failing everything.”

“That stings.” Marcus said, rubbing his shoulder but grinning all the same. “I hope Malfoy manages to make up with that girl that was yelling at him though- he looked really upset about that.”

“If only to make him more pleasant to deal with. I can’t stand sulky rich kids.” Adrian murmured, his hand having found its way into Nero’s dark locks, stroking his head as if it were a purring cat in his lap. “I’m going back to sleep now. Wake me if anything interesting happens again.”

“Sure. I’ll copy over your Summer homework while you sleep.”

“Just don’t make it look too similar, will you?” 

*

 

**Another Time**

 

**“Merry, I know you’re angry, but Mother really does care about you.” Arthur held his little sister to him as she shook and cried.**

**“Leave it, Art. What Mother did- or tried to do- was unforgivable.”**

**Arthur looked up towards his eldest brother- Brandon, the true black sheep of the family. It would have been little surprise if he’d been sorted into Slytherin like their sister; Brandon had always had a hard and cunning streak in him- even as a boy. Thankfully, the man put most of that calculating side of him into his work as a photojournalist at** **_The Prophet_ ** **, but sometimes- like now- he threw a spanner into the works of their family.**

**“Bran, what are you trying to do?” Arthur’s grip on his crying sister tightened.**

**“What are** **_you_ ** **trying to do, Art? Trying to piece this pathetic failure of a family back together no matter what? Or have you already forgotten that Mother tried to poison Merula? To kill her own grandchild?”**

**Arthur went pale and his voice shook when he spoke. “That** ** _thing_** **is not part of our family. How can you encourage her like this- manipulate her into thinking of** ** _Abraxas Malfoy’s-_** **that thing** **as a child? While I don’t support what mother tried to do without Merry’s permission, I do think that ending this is the only-”**

**Merula shook herself free from her brother’s arms, dark eyes sparking with angry tears.**

**“You too, Arthur? Is there no place for us in this family any more? I’m not killing my baby just to make things easier for you. I’m not- I- I’m leaving. We’re not safe here- Bran, please-”**

**Brandon shot a disgusted look at his brother and clasped his sister’s hand, helping her to her feet. “This is about what Merula wants, not what you or mother, father, or anyone else wants or thinks. It’s not their say. It’s a crying shame you can’t support your own sister with what she wants at a time like this, when she needs us all more than ever. Come on, Merula. You can stay with me for as long as you need to.”**

*******

*****

 

Draco walked slowly along the gangway, peering into each compartment in search of Harriet. He’d probably have to apologise to her or something- even if apologising for badmouthing the Weasleys was tantamount to apologising to the Weasleys themselves, the thought made him feel sick. 

_ There. That one.  _

She was with the weasley twins and a dark-skinned Gryffindor boy Draco didn’t recognise who was ranting about how one of the prefects confiscated his giant tarantula, or something. One of the twins- Draco didn’t know or care which- looked up and met his eyes through the compartment door and waved, flicking the door open with a quick spell.

Draco felt entirely out of his comfort zone. He wondered if Harriet had told them every little thing he’d said about their family. He cringed and forced himself to step forwards, holding his head up with dignity befitting of a Malfoy.

“Do you have him?” Harriet asked, looking rather ashamed at leaving her pet behind with the boy she’d just yelled at.

Draco nodded and walked forwards, a shiver shooting up his spine when the compartment door slammed shut behind him. “I apologise for saying those things,” he said stiffly, “I should have realised how unkind I was being.” He hoped with every fibre in his being that no-one in the compartment picked up on how insincere he was. 

“Thanks.” Harriet said, and Draco let out a sigh of relief. He really didn’t want to start his schooling at Hogwarts with being beaten up by three Gryffindors in front of the most famous and influential student in his year. He dug around in the pockets of his robes, noticing the birdcage Harriet had been carrying before with the cover drawn up and the door open. Finding the sleeping snake and drawing him out of his pocket, he scanned the small room and saw a magnificent Snowy owl perched on the back of one of the seats, behind a Weasley twin.

“Mister’s been asleep the entire time. I don’t think he’ll notice when he wakes up,” he said.

“Mister?” Harriet laughed, easing the tension, “The name is a bit of a mouthful, isn’t it.” 

She accepted her snake back and tucked him into the pocket of her own robes and made introductions, somehow remembering which Weasley twin was which. Draco tried to leave as gracefully as possible, but was shoved onto an empty seat by Fred.

“Take a seat, blondie.”

Draco tensed up, trying not to let fear show on his face. Maybe he was going to get beaten up after all. He should’ve stayed with Greg and Vince.

“Relax, you prat. We-”

“-don’t bite. Have to admit that that mishap-”

“-with the strimmer was quite-”

“-amusing once Dad got out of hospital.”

“Mum didn’t let him hear the last of it for weeks.”

Draco stared over at Harriet, who was doing her best to hide behind the tiny muggle book she’d showed him earlier. Feeling more confident, he quirked an eyebrow at her.

“The rest of my books are in my trunk,” she replied to the unspoken question.

The rest of the train ride passed as peacefully as possible, with members of feuding families stuck in the same train compartment. Draco tried to remember if his father had ever told him the reason for the blood feud between the Malfoys and Weasleys, but he couldn’t. He didn’t want to push it and ask the twins either, as little as they seemed to care about fighting. He let himself relax and enjoy a rather interesting conversation about quidditch, which the twins, Lee Jordan and Harriet were all surprisingly knowledgeable on.

*


	8. Beginnings

“Firs’-years! Firs’-years this way! Oh, hey, Harriet, over here!” 

A man who was without any doubt, the largest human being Harriet had ever seen or heard of waved cheerily at her. Besides him stood Professor Snape and a short woman with a kindly face. Figuring out that something was up, Harriet walked over to them, Draco not far behind.

“Harriet,” Snape started once they were close enough, “you’re going to be taking a carriage with Madam Pomfrey and myself. Draco, go with the other first years.”

Draco looked like he wanted to protest but nodded and left with a muttered “see you at Hogwarts, I suppose.”

The large man gave Harriet a wide, toothy grin and gestured towards the covered owl cage. “How’s yer owl doin’? Did yeh give her a name yet?”

“Yeah, Hedwig, she’s great.” Harriet answered, before taking a moment to wonder why this man was asking about her owl. “Are you Hagrid?”

“Tha’s me,” the man’s grin widened impossibly further. “Las’ time I saw you, you was only a baby. Yeh look a lot like yer dad, you do-”

Snape coughed behind him.

“-I’ll see yeh later then, Harriet. It’s a pity yer gonna miss the ride across the lake- lovely clear skies and all, tonight.” 

“Thank you for Hedwig!” Harriet shouted as he left. 

“Come on now,” Madam Pomfrey put a hand on her shoulders and led her towards the first of a line of carriages. Snape gave her a hand up the steps which were a little too high for her. The interior of the carriage was lit by a single lantern hovering near its roof. Madam Pomfrey tapped it with her wand once she’d boarded and the light brightened. 

The carriage shuddered a little and set off, even though there was no horse pulling it.

“Now, dear, could you tell me about your left eye?” she asked.

Harriet’s hand flew up to her eyepatch. “I don’t know much about it. It doesn’t hurt or anything- it just looks different, so I keep it hidden. Do you want to see it?”

Madam Pomfrey nodded, so Harriet pushed the transfigured eyepatch aside. 

*

 

The Mediwitch couldn’t help gasping when she saw Harriet’s eye. She’d tended to the girl after her parents were murdered, she’d seen the gruesome remains of the poor baby’s eye. There was no hope at its recovery- even the best healers money could buy wouldn’t return that left eye to what it had been. All she could do was to clean the wound and seal it, murmur a few words of comfort as the baby cried out in pain and hold her for a few moments before passing her over to Hagrid. She wanted to send her straight to St. Mungo’s but Albus refused- it wasn’t safe; she needed to be behind the most powerful wards as soon as possible. And after what had happened to the Longbottoms she no longer resented him for his decision. 

And now Harriet stared at her with two eyes.

Shaking off the grip her emotions had on her, Poppy Pomfrey stared at the mysterious left eye. She ran a few diagnostic spells after looking alone told her nothing. No response, nothing unusual- the spells were telling her less than her eyes. 

She barely stopped herself from cursing aloud when the next diagnostic spell came back positive. A spell that tested for the presence of dark magic. 

“Poppy?” Severus asked, concerned, “What is it?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know. I’m sorry, Harriet, we’ll have to talk to Professor Dumbledore about this, it’s beyond my knowledge.”

“That might be a couple of days away, or more. He’s overworking himself again.”

Poppy scowled at that. “Well, if you see him before I do, tell him to leave the Minister to do the job he’s paid to do rather than doing it for him, will you?”

“I’ll try.” Severus started work on the glamour Dumbledore had suggested, telling his student about it as he wove the magic together. “… will look like the eye is gone, as everyone thinks it is. It doesn’t last forever so it will need renewing twice a year. Just see Professor McGonagall or myself in a few months or if it starts to fade.” 

He finished his explanation as he set the glamour in place and nodded towards Poppy. “Do you remember what we talked about before?” he asked.

“Of course I do,” Poppy answered, “but, Severus, are you sure?” 

Her colleague nodded, his eyes hard. Poppy sighed and cast an extra diagnostic spell, wincing at the result. “Old spiral fractures in the lower left arm; multiple bruises, fresh, all over her body; her right shoulder has been dislocated sometime this year, stunted growth due to severe malnutrition, old fractures in her fingers, Oh Severus… ” Poppy blinked back her tears, “… you were right.”

“What?” Harriet stared back and forth between the two adults. “What was that? Why… ?”

Severus stared at the floor of the carriage. “Harriet. The Dursleys- what they did to you was wrong. You need to know that. There is no justification for how they treated you.”

Poppy nodded along with his words. She had more than enough experience dealing with abused children, and knew that too many thought their guardians had the right to treat them the way they did. 

“They’re scared of me,” Harriet finally said, “I always knew I was a… knew I was not normal, but I tried to be.” Her breath stuttered and Poppy drew her into her arms and let her cry. “I tried to be everything they wanted, but they hated me no matter what.”

*

 

Harriet didn’t think she’d ever cried anywhere near as much in one day ever before in her life. Starting to believe she could make friends for once, without the Dursley’s influence hanging over her, had given her a little confidence when Ron first approached her, but that confidence disappeared at the first confrontation.  _ I doubt he wants to talk to me anymore,  _ she thought despite Fred and George’s assurances. 

The rest of the first year students were chattering in the massive entrance hall- a room the size of an average house, and Harriet hurried over to join them. Professor Snape left through a side door rather than the main one she’d just seen another professor leave through.

“Harriet! There you are- I thought I’d introduce you to some of our classmates before the sorting.” Draco walked up to her and threw an arm around her shoulders as if he’d known her for years. Harriet let herself be led towards a group of students that were standing aside from the rest. She looked around as she went, and saw Ron- unmistakeable because of his fiery red hair- glaring daggers at her. She ducked her head in a silent apology before turning to Draco, who had started the introductions in a formal-verging-pompous tone that made her want to laugh. 

“Harriet, this is Pansy Parkinson, Gregory Goyle, Theodore Nott, Vincent Crabbe and Daphne Greengrass. I’ve known them all for years.”

Harriet nodded, finding that she’d lost her voice. Forcing herself to say something, anything, the best she could manage was a quiet ‘hello’. 

The dark haired girl with an upturned nose- Pansy Parkinson- burst out laughing. “Sorry,” she managed to say through her laughter, “but I thought someone as famous as you would be a little bit more- I don’t know, confident?” 

Theodore reached across the human boulder to his right and poked Pansy in the arm. “Most of us are nervous, Pansy,” he scolded her before nodding towards Harriet and offering his hand. “You can call me Theo.”

Harriet gave him a shy smile and took his hand.

*

 

**Another Time, Another Place**

 

**Erica shook out Brandon’s letter and re-examined it, as if her scrutiny would magic new words onto the folded, worn paper. She stared from the statue sitting on a pedestal in front of her to the letter, and back again.**

**“That thing doesn’t look remotely like a lion to me,” she muttered angrily.**

**Her husband looked back at the cave entrance, which was now a tiny speck of light- no brighter than the light of his wand. “You know this is the place, Erica. Is there a particular reason for your stalling?”**

**Erica spluttered at him. “It’s this bloody letter! It’s obvious there’s more to it than just ‘putting your hand on the orb under the stone lion’s paw’ to get through- I can feel the magic from that statue- it’s just- this feels like a trap to me.”**

**“It’s not.” Eckhardt walked past her to stand in front of the statue. “Watch.” He placed his hand on the stone orb as his wife held her breath; after a few seconds the stone glowed briefly and he stepped back. “See?” He arched an eyebrow in challenge.**

**“You…” she started to say, but cut herself off. “Fine. But if we get ambushed** **_again_ ** **it’s your fault.” She copied her husband’s actions, placing her hand on the orb.**

**She was right. The orb was no button to be pressed on a ticket dispenser. She felt herself compelled to look up into the stone guardian’s eyes and her entire life played before her- all her fears and worries, hopes and dreams, everything was out in the open for the statue to flick through far faster than she could raise her occlumency barriers.**

**YOU ARE PERMITTED the statue finally said, or allowed her to know. She felt herself being released from its invisible grasp and staggered back into Eckhardt's taller body.**

**“Well…” she finally said, “that was… something.”**

**She watched as the statue picked up its orb, stepping aside as the pedestal flowed into stone steps up to a narrow doorway. She walked up the steps, her husband close behind her. When she reached the doorway she blinked at the sudden daylight.**

**“So this is Yuanshan City.”**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still haven't got to the sorting yet...  
> (~^w^)~


	9. Sortings

 

Severus’ eyes flicked over this year’s new students before turning to his friend and mentor.

“Are you not concerned that Potter has surrounded herself with the children of former Death Eaters?” he asked Albus, his voice barely a whisper.

Albus merely shrugged, still watching the other end of the line of students. Severus followed his gaze to a familiar-looking girl with dark brown hair and sunken, hooded eyes. She looked just as nervous as the students around her, and apart from that slight familiarity Severus couldn’t place, entirely unremarkable.

“Who is that?” he asked eventually, in a conversational volume, hoping this time to get a response.

“That would be Miss Davis. You would do well to keep an eye on her, Severus. She has much potential.” 

Asking him to keep an eye on her was Albus’s way of telling him that Davis would most likely be sorted into Slytherin. Severus tried to remember if there had been a Davis among his ‘colleagues’, but he was sure there wasn’t. Davis sounded like a muggleborn name, either way. He dismissed these thoughts- Harriet’s safety was the most important thing right now. He knew what Draco was thinking without having to look into his mind, having known the boy since he was a squalling infant, Draco was making friends with the most famous and influential student to increase his own fame and influence. Severus didn’t think Draco had any motives beyond this- Lucius Malfoy was not a complete fanatic despite being part of the Dark Lord’s inner circle. The Greengrass family had never followed the Dark Lord, and while the Parkinsons supported him, they were never active followers. Crabbe, Goyle and Nott, however, were fully committed to the cause, no matter what they had later claimed in court to gain their acquittals. 

_ It was unlikely that their parents would attempt to use them as weapons now, though, with the Dark Lord gone. _

Severus was so lost in his worries, he had missed the Sorting Hat’s song altogether. He was woken by the Hat’s cry of ‘Hufflepuff!’ as the first student was sorted. He watched the sorting in mental silence, nodding as Davis was indeed sorted into Slytherin. Albus looked, if anything, a little disappointed that his prediction was correct. He gave his godson a smile when he, too, was sorted into Slytherin, Draco smiled back at him and went to join his friends. 

The great hall went silent when Harriet’s name was called. Severus watched her walk forwards, looking small and scared, and continued watching as the Hat took its time to decide. Severus didn’t see what the Hat’s issue was. It was obvious that the girl would be sorted into Gryffindor like her parents had been.

*

 

Harriet was immensely grateful that the hat was too big for her, and had slid straight over her eyes when Professor Mcgonagall put it on her head. She could pretend there was no-one there if she couldn’t see them. 

_ Interesting, very interesting  _ a voice in her head said.

_ Interesting?  _ Harriet thought back.

_ A difficult one for sure…  _ the voice continued,  _ the mind’s more than decent, there’s plenty of courage here too, yes, and talent- talent for many things… so, where should I put you? _

Harriet quickly thought back to the books she’d read about the different houses. _ Ravenclaw sounds nice?  _ she thought.

_ Ravenclaw? Well, you could fit in there, I suppose, but I’d say that the House for one of your particular set of talents would have to be- SLYTHERIN! _

Harriet blinked rapidly as the hat was removed. Well, it wasn’t unexpected- to her at least. The rest of the Great Hall- except the small group of newly sorted Slytherins- stared at her in shocked silence. One person started clapping as she got up- the headmaster, Professor Dumbledore, and the rest of the school slowly joined in. She walked as quickly as she could over to the Slytherin table and sat next to Draco and an older dark-haired boy with piercing blue eyes. 

“I don’t think even Snape expected that.” Draco sniggered.

Harriet turned to the head table, seeking out her new Head of House. He was staring at her with his mouth open, and the headmaster had hold of his arm, saying something inaudible to him. Whatever it was, Snape nodded and resumed his calm mask to watch the rest of the sorting. Harriet saw Ron glaring at her and abruptly turned away, accidentally elbowing the older boy to her right.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she said, meeting the boy’s eyes.

“No need, little lady.” He flashed her a ridiculously charming smile and offered his hand to shake, “I’m Nero Bulstrode, and this-” he gestured to one of the first-year girls sitting opposite them, “-is my little sister Millicent. I hope you’ll be getting on well together.” 

Harriet took his hand and smiled at him and the thickset girl he pointed out. “Of course.” 

Nero edged closer and stage-whispered in her ear, “it’s good to see that you got over your little argument with Malfoy here,” causing her to blush red as she recognised him.

Draco’s eyes narrowed. “You never woke up,” he accused him.

Nero grinned and leant past Harriet over to Draco, and murmured with his lips close to the boy’s ear, echoing Harriet’s angry words “you can’t just decide that people aren’t worth anything like that, it’s wrong,” before pulling away, snickering to himself. Draco turned bright pink, and Harriet buried her face in her hands.

“She’s right, you know.” Nero said, gleefully continuing his torment before the table erupted in applause for the last time as the final student was sorted into Slytherin.

Theo gave them both a confused look, shifting aside to make room for Zabini, a tall boy with dark skin, to sit at the table. “Will either of you tell me what this is about?”

*

 

**Another Time, The exact same Place**

 

**Merula caught her brothers’ eyes before she sat on the stool as directed. It would only be a few more seconds, and she would be sorted and be able to hide behind them again. Being at the centre of attention like this terrified her more than anything. Sometimes she thought that she could creep out from their shadows, into the sunlight, and be her own person- someone who wasn’t** **_little sister_ ** **or** **_daughter_ ** **, but just Merula. Maybe she could do that here.**

**But everytime she thought that, she quickly dismissed it. The only ‘rebellious’ desire she allowed herself was the hope that she could finally ditch that stupid nickname-** **_Merry_ ** **\- here.** **_“Please call me Merula,”_ ** **she practiced over and over again in her head** **_“I prefer Merula”_ ** **and when she was feeling a little more sure of herself,** **_“It’s Merula, actually.”_ **

**It was likely that most people would simply call her ‘Weasley’ and leave it at that. But her dorm-mates and friends would call her Merula. Not Merry, not if she could help it.**

**The hat was dropped onto her head with a quiet** **_flompf_ ** **sound, and she again made eye contact with her brothers at the Gryffindor table. Maybe she could get them to try to stop calling her Merry. Art cares, so he might. Brandon and Billius enjoy teasing her too much.**

**_Strong desires to make something of yourself, eh? Just one thing holding you back- it’s only too obvious that the House for you is-_ **

**_“_ ** **SLYTHERIN!” it announced to the hall.**

**She’d been to wrapped up in her worries to really listen to the Hat’s observations. Merula watched the expressions on her brother’s faces change- shock, surprise and anger. She stood up, passed the hat back to the deputy headmistress mechanically and took two steps towards the Gryffindor table before it hit her. She’d been sorted into Slytherin. That wasn’t something she’d ever considered possible, not even one of the things she pushed to the back of her mind and told herself she’d never considered. She snapped her eyes away from her brothers’ shocked faces to look up at the stern woman holding the hat.**

**Professor McGonagall gave her an encouraging smile, “Go on, then,” she said.**

**She turned and dashed towards the Slytherin table, not wanting to be in front of the whole school any longer. Yaxley followed her into Slytherin soon after, and the first-year boy she was sitting next to introduced himself.**

**“I’m Lucius Malfoy. I hope we can get on well together.”**

***

*

 

Severus could barely focus on his food, partly in his anger at Albus’s calm, unfazed exterior that for all he questioned the man- seemed to match the interior, and partly because Lily and James’ child had just been sorted into his house. He couldn’t for the life of him think of any signs of her being a Slytherin apart from the obvious. But wasn’t the girl so sickeningly  _ Gryffindor  _ as to outweigh sharing the Slytherin founder’s gift? He couldn’t think straight. 

He was also worried, the same concern he felt when he saw Harriet surrounded by the children of Death Eaters.  _ Now she’s going to be sharing a dorm with them, sharing a common room with them- and sharing a common room with young adults who would have taken the Dark Mark had  _ he _ not fallen. And she’s the one responsible- or so they’ll think- responsible for family members killed, or worse, in Azkaban, responsible for the perfect future their parents told them of since they were babes- that glorious, magical future we were all promised being shattered. Why is he so calm? _

He sent a glare in the headmaster’s direction when he could take his eyes away from the Slytherin table.

“Sage jelly, Severus? It goes quite well with the roast potatoes.”

Only his impeccable self-control prevented the jar of sage jelly from hurtling away from the head table at speed, and knocking some poor student unconscious.

He would have  _ words _ with Albus later.


	10. Feasts of Life and Death

Draco tried and failed to give Theo a short explanation that skipped over most of the things that had happened since he met Harriet. His taller friend truly had no concept of minding his own business, but unlike the girl sitting besides him and pretending to pay attention to her nails, Theo was no gossip monger. 

Pansy looked up from her nails and gave Draco a truly frightening grin to remind him that their entire House would know that he had apologised to the Weasley twins by nightfall, and the entire school by the next day. He shook his head and returned to heaping food on his plate, or would have if the Bloody Baron hadn’t chosen  _ him  _ of all people to sit next to. He sidled as close to Harriet as he could while maintaining his dignity as a Malfoy, glaring through the frightening spectre at Vince and Greg, the latter of which was almost in the former’s lap. 

Harriet was also staring at the ghost, “How do you think he got covered in all that blood?” she asked tentatively.

Draco had no idea, and didn’t think his parents knew either. “I heard he killed someone,” he whispered dramatically, hoping the ghost either couldn’t hear him or didn’t care. He knew the ghosts were harmless, but that knowledge didn’t give him much comfort when the castle’s most horrifying one was sitting next to him, giving poor Millicent an empty stare that made her shudder and concentrate on her food. 

Bulstrode chuckled besides them and added his own rumour, “and I heard that it’s not blood. One of the former head boys told everyone that he fell down the stairs while carrying a bowl of tomato soup, and that’s how he died.” 

“You made that up,” the boy sitting on the other side of Bulstrode groaned, waving a fork with a roast carrot speared on it. “I never heard any such thing.”

Draco ceased to pay attention as they started to bicker in favour of a tureen of sprouts that looked to be cooked exactly the way he liked them. He scooped several onto his plate and bit into one, savouring how each layer of leaves gave way beneath his teeth and the sweet, nutty flavour. 

“You should try these, they’re really good,” he said to Harriet.

She made a face, but shrugged “all right,” taking one off his plate. She turned it back and forth on her fork, examining it from every angle.

“Aunt Petunia cooks these every Christmas and they’re awful, and I end up eating them for the next few days after that because everyone knows they’re awful and doesn’t dare touch them,” she said, a look of disgust on her face as she dared herself to take a bite out of it.

Her eyes widened as she chewed. “It’s good. It doesn’t taste of rotten eggs- how is that even possible?”

“The Goyle house elves can’t cook them well either,” Draco said.

Harriet looked confused for the briefest second, staring at the sprout with interest before finishing it off and spooning some onto her plate. “Thanks,” she said with a smile, “I’d have avoided the things for the rest of my life otherwise.”

*

 

When the desserts appeared, Harriet grabbed a slice of treacle tart. Despite cooking for the Dursleys since she could hold a pan, she’d somehow never been trusted with baking. She hadn’t eaten so well ever in her life and halfway through the tart she couldn’t eat any more of the rich, sticky sweet. A wave of guilt washed over her, as she took another mouthful of pumpkin juice and still couldn’t face the thought of eating even a spoonful more. She hated wasting food, and she didn’t have any way to squirrel the sweet away for later without getting her pocket sticky.

Her hand had found its way into her pocket while she was still giving the dish before her a sad look, and her fingers brushed against warm, smooth scales, instantly cheering her up. Mr. Snake didn’t move since he was fast asleep, but Harriet stroked her fingers along his scales anyway.

Around her, the students were talking about their families, and she listened, deciding to keep her situation with the Dursleys private for now. She didn’t want to break down into tears again and earn a reputation as a crybaby.  _ It would be best not to think about them too much, if ever. _

Theo was raised by his father, his mother having died when he was little. A girl Harriet didn’t know gave him an understanding smile. “My dad’s raised me alone too. Well, he’s not my ‘real’ dad, my real parents died a long time ago too, but he might as well be. We’re just really lucky that my dad’s muggle family has always been there for us.”

“You’re a mud- I mean, muggleborn?” Theo asked, tripping over his words.

The girl with the dark brown hair shrugged. “Don’t know. Dad doesn’t talk about my real parents much.”

“I can’t see a mudblood being sorted into Slytherin,” said Draco, before Nero reached across Harriet to pinch his shoulder sharply, causing him to flinch into the Baron and fall against Harriet as he threw himself away from the Slytherin ghost.

Harriet helped him right himself, glaring at Nero. 

“What the hell was that for?” she asked.

“It’s all right,” Draco muttered before Nero could answer. “Mother said I’d get into trouble if I used that word here, anyway.”

*

 

Hermione glanced around as they left the great hall in a small group. Most of the students were too focused on their food to notice them, but they attracted a few curious glances anyway. She looked up at the charmed ceiling for one last time before the doors closed. 

They’d been given permission by Professor McGonagall, their Head of House, to bury Scabbers’ body somewhere on the grounds. The stern older woman had been none too pleased to find that one of her students had been carrying around a dead rat. After their explanation she said she’d ‘look into it’ and told Percy to accompany them outside to ‘lay the poor wee thing to rest’. 

So there were six of them: the four Weasley brothers- Percy, Fred, George and Ron, then herself, and Neville, who was clutching Trevor to his chest with a determined expression. 

The sky was as clear as when they’d come across on the boats earlier in the evening, and stars shone down as they trudged along in solemn silence.

“We’ll take him to the lake. He always liked it when I took him on picnics there,” Percy said, a little sadness in his voice. “He was a good rat.”

When they reached the lake, the twins transfigured a casket out of pebbles and sticks as the rest of them provided light with their wands. Neville struggled with the charm initially, but Hermione was quick to show him how simple it was, guiding his hand through the wand movements as if she hadn’t just learnt the spell a minute ago. 

Once Scabbers had been placed into the heavy casket and the lid closed, Percy levitated it over the surface of the lake until his hand shook almost imperceptibly, and he let it drop slowly beneath the clear mirror of water. 

“Goodbye Scabbers,” he said with a sigh.

“He had a long life.” Fred said.

“A ridiculously long life for a rat.” George added.

Ron bowed his head, nodding sadly.

“Come on now,” Percy said officiously, “we should get back to the Feast.”

*

 

Beneath the surface of the lake, a stone coffin sank down through the weeds, on and on, and when it finally hit the mud at the bottom, it kept sinking until it was no longer visible. Slowly, so slowly, as hours then days passed and life continued above and around it, the enchantments released and the coffin became pebbles and the shroud faded back into nothing, leaving the rat’s body to be eaten away by various small water-dwelling creatures. When the last enchantment died, Peter Pettigrew’s skeleton was all that remained, forever lost at the bottom of the Black Lake.

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, Sirius, it's going to be a while.


	11. Chapter 11

The Headmaster cleared his throat, and started to speak not long after the dishes disappeared, causing Harriet to glance up at the teacher’s table, and notice a man seated by Professor Snape that wasn’t there before- she would have noticed him if he had been, because he was wearing a quite ridiculous purple turban. She took back everything she’d ever thought about Dedalus Diggle’s fashion choices- or would have, if her left eye didn’t start boiling in pain the way it had never done before, causing her to hiss in agony.

The pain was gone quickly, having lasted a fraction of a second. She looked back up and tried to concentrate on the speech but Draco was tugging at her arm, looking concerned.

“Are you okay?” he whispered.

She nodded, and replied with a whispered question of her own. “What subject does the teacher in the purple turban teach?”

“Huh? Oh, him? That’s Quirrell, the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. Father says that defence teachers don’t usually last more than a year, and they’re mostly useless.”

Harriet nodded again, and they turned their attention back to the Headmaster.

“ …this year, the third floor corridor on the right hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death.” 

Murmurs swept the Great Hall, confused, scared, curious- this was not something that anyone had expected. 

“They’ve hidden something dangerous in the school?” Harriet mused, putting what little clues she could together from what the Headmaster said. 

“Seems like it,” Nero said, grinning, “I wonder if anyone’s going to get themselves killed this year?”

Harriet looked worried. “You think that could happen?”

“I don’t know how that old fool gets away with it!” Draco sulked, “I mean, he clearly hasn’t asked the governors for permission- because my father’s on the board and he would have told me about something like this. Maybe if someone  _ does  _ get killed, he’ll finally get sacked like he should have been years ago!”

There was a snorting sound behind Harriet as Nero tried and failed to suppress his laughter. Luckily, Draco’s indignation was cut off in time by the Headmaster, and unluckily, it seemed that mandatory singing was involved. Harriet muttered her way through the school song, which thankfully didn’t have a set tune that she could be out of. Drawing to the end of the song, everyone’s eyes were drawn to the Gryffindor table where the weasley twins were still singing in a mournful monotone.

Harriet was grateful when they were finally led away from the hall by the prefects, and too tired to notice much about the Slytherin common room, other than it was very green. She was sharing a dormitory with the other first-year girls in her House, she was told by an equally sleepy-looking prefect, and waved to Draco before heading further downstairs to the dorm, and sleep. 

With Mr. Snake in his usual place curled around her neck, having barely awoken when she put him there, it almost seemed that nothing had changed, except her bed being a lot more comfortable. 

*

 

Perhaps due to the Malfoy political influence, Draco seemed to have no problem asking for- or demanding directions to their classes, which made his attachment to Harriet fortunate, or she would have been lost. 

“I’ve seen most of the students- the ones that  _ matter _ , anyway, at various balls and functions. It’s always useful to know who you’re dealing with.”

Harriet resisted the urge to tell Draco that he sounded like a pompous twit by thinking that she’d tell him later, when she could get to her classes by herself. 

“Or what you’re dealing with. Why do the staircases need to move?” she complained agreeably.

Draco shrugged, and Harriet continued. “I read that Rowena Ravenclaw came up with the idea and worked on the charms for them herself- but nowhere in  _ Hogwarts, a History _ does it tell you why.”

“It can be inconvenient,” agreed Draco.

“Oh, you’ve read that?” A girl wearing a red tie that Harriet recognised from the train walked up besides them. “It’s brilliant, isn’t it?” 

“It would be more brilliant if it gave a justification for this nuisance of a staircase,” Harriet muttered darkly, “and there’s a step on one of them that trapped poor Goyle like it was quicksand. Even with both of us and Crabbe there it was a struggle to pull him out.”

Crabbe and Goyle blended into the background most of the time, and Harriet found herself forgetting they were there. Any attempt at conversation was unsuccessful, as they seemed to not want to talk to her, rather than not have anything to say. Draco told her to ignore them, but she had hoped they would come around after that particular incident. They didn’t, needless to say.

“Oh, I’ve asked the same question. Professor Flitwick told me that she wanted the staircase itself to be a learning experience, that students would better their senses of  prediction and caution on the way to classes.”

Harriet shook her head. “So it was designed to be a nuisance of an obstacle course?”

Draco was oddly silent and an irritable aura hung around him during her conversation with Hermione, which lasted until they reached their transfiguration class- the first class so far that Harriet had struggled with, having made no change at all to the match she was trying to turn into a needle.

After Herbology with the Ravenclaws, Draco pulled her aside to talk. 

“You should stay away from Granger,” he said, his tone serious, “people like her don’t deserve to be here. They don’t come from proper wizarding families like the rest of us. They weren’t raised properly, being raised by muggles, you see.”

Harriet narrowed her eyes. “You really think that witches and wizards raised by muggles don’t deserve to be here?” she said in an icy voice.

_ I think I’ll be finding my way to Potions on my own,  _ she thought.

Draco mustn’t have caught on to her tone, “That’s what I said,” he said.

“You think I don’t deserve to be here?” she asked, staring deep into his confused grey eyes.

“What- you weren’t-”

“Work it out for yourself,” she said with finality, and stormed off. Mr. Snake was nosing around in the vegetable patch, which apparently provided good hunting.

_ “Mr. Snake, where are you?”  _ she hissed once she was far enough away from anyone who wasn’t a parsnip.

_ “I’m not hungry, anyway,”  _ her dear friend hissed back, and she walked over to him and scooped him up, brushing dirt off his scales.  _ “Why do you smell so sad?”  _ he asked.

_ “I don’t know what I should do about Draco. He’s so nice to me and then he’ll say the most awful things about other people and expect me to just go along with it.” _

_ “He won’t make a good mate, then. Don’t bother with him, the strange smelling one is a better choice by far.” _

Harriet snorted.  _ “You’re ridiculous, completely ridiculous. I love you.” _

The adder slithered around her neck.  _ “It’s getting cold, very cold. I don’t think I’ll be wanting to go outside much more before I sleep for the winter.” _

_ “Stay close, then, Mr. Snake. I don’t want you to get caught out in bad weather. This isn’t like Surrey- there aren’t warm houses all over for you to hide in.” _

_ “That is true. And you should ignore Draco when he’s being annoying.” _

Harriet tickled Mr. Snake’s chin as she walked to the Great Hall for dinner, where she sat with Davis, who was pleasant enough company. 

*

 

_ July 30th _

 

_ This is the second day I’ve spent in pursuit of the Potter child, which is most irritating. Petunia and her idiot husband are incredibly persistent. I checked the Register at 6am to find the new address, and was a little surprised to find that they’ve taken lodging in our old hometown- albeit on the other side of the city, not somewhere I am familiar with. I found the closest set of coordinates in the directory, which desperately needs updating. _

_ The closest Ministry-approved apparition point to the Railview Hotel in Cokeworth isn’t very close at all, and if this wasn’t official school business I would have chosen a more direct route, rather than sticking to rules that few bother with anyway and which I shouldn’t have bothered with, official school business or not.  _

_ Making sure to transfigure my robes into muggle clothing first, I let myself out of the closed-down menswear shop they’d chosen as an apparition point. I really must question the strength of the anti-muggle wards on the building, which had been thoroughly vandalised, the letter r in the word ‘Shirt’ either stolen or blacked out wherever it appears.  _

_ Resigning myself to walking the rest of the way- just over two miles, I set off. This part of Cokeworth is far from a pleasant place. It’s filthy, busy, and noisy, full of rude and unpleasant muggles. A muggle woman pushed a pram out onto the road, and tried to involve me in an argument she started with the driver of the car that nearly sent her squalling brat flying. It’s that kind of place. I walk as fast as I can, checking the streetmap when necessary. It takes far too long to reach the Railview, as when I arrive, they have long gone. Really, was it necessary to keep sending the letters when I was tracking them down? _

Severus put the journal down with a grimace, watching it close and lock itself once it left his touch. His journal was half professional observations on experimental potions and spells, and half childish complaining. He truly loathed being taken away from his books and potions to be sent on a fool’s errand- despite that particular fool’s errand being worth it in the end. Lily and James’s daughter was so much more than she had initially seemed at the bus-stop in Surrey. Admittedly, the way she wore a red raincoat over a yellow shirt had added to the air of Gryffindor arrogance he had attributed her, which he now recognised as the normal defensive behaviour of a young girl confronted by a suspicious- looking adult male. One wearing a shrinking bowler-hat, no less.

He wasn’t going to admit to himself that he was quite looking forwards to seeing her in his class. She had shown enthusiasm for the subject when he showed her some of the potions books he’d found useful in his own early years at Hogwarts. Books that detailed the different ways to cut and prepare ingredients, showed different stirring patterns and listed common mistakes made in the brewing of simple potions. If she’d read them over the last month she should be as advanced as some of his pure-blood students who’d already been tutored at home. He’d tutored Draco personally, since he was the boy’s godfather. 

A knock at his office door distracted him from his thoughts.

“Come in, Albus,” he said, turning to face the door.

The Headmaster, with his colourful and cheerful robes, always stood out like a sore thumb in Severus’s comparably dark and dull office. 

“Having a good week, Severus?” Albus asked, examining a large jar of pickled sea cucumbers. 

“It could always be worse,” said Severus.

“You had the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw first years today, right?”

“Right,” Severus narrowed his eyes and waited for the older man to get to the point of his visit. “None of them were particularly incompetent, and a few showed some skill. The lesson ended without any disasters.”

“And the Gryffindors and Slytherins tomorrow, yes?”

Severus rolled his eyes. “I’ll try not to make any of your favourite Gryffindors cry,” he half-promised.

Albus finally turned away from the shelves of various unfortunate creatures floating in brine. “Your favouritism towards Slytherin students is something I should have addressed beforehand. Merlin knows, Minerva’s been on my case about it for years.”

“Oh?”  _ This could be interesting. _

“The thing is, Severus, while the last thing I want is for you and young Harriet to hate each other, I don’t particularly want you to make her into a teacher’s pet, either.” Severus opened his mouth to object, but Albus held up his hand and continued. “I know you’re fond of the girl. But she’s going to struggle to make friends in the other houses if you show too much favouritism for her.”

Severus mulled the thought over in his head for a while. “Yes. I can see why that would be a problem. Although, it seems that she has managed to make enemies in Gryffindor already.”

Albus shook his head with a smile. “You must be referring to the incident on the train. Yes, I’ve heard all about it- Minerva was quite adamant that an adder is not an acceptable pet for an eleven-year-old, and is not allowed in the school rules.”

Severus dreaded telling the girl that she wasn’t allowed to keep her friend anymore, and started to think of a way to work around the rules.

“Luckily, though,” Albus continued, “I happened to remember a rule from the days of founding, Salazar’s doing, no doubt, that states that any parselmouth student is permitted a parseltongue-speaking familiar at school. Mister Snake has nothing to worry about. And I’m sure that Mr. Weasley will soon come to understand that Harriet didn’t want to harm him or his late rat.”

Albus walked over to the door, “Anyway, think about what I’ve said. Goodnight, my boy.”

“I will. See you in the morning.” Severus replied, holding the door open for his mentor, and shutting it behind him. He had a lot to think about while he checked that his lesson plans were in order.

*

 

**Another time, Another Place**

 

**Yuanshan City was a bizarre mix of traditional Chinese architecture and a 50’s sci-fi comic artist’s dream. Buildings clung to the sides of almost vertical mountains, some branching out into the air like fungi with sweeping tiled roofs, others blocky and impassive. Death-defying bridges were scattered across the gaps between mountains, with stone towers and gateways along their lengths that could only be balanced there by magic. And all around the city were cabs of various styles and shapes, flying at a leisurely pace between port-like structures. Erica’s eye was caught by a metallic cab the size of a double-decker bus and the shape of a dirigible which was flying steadily west. It was close enough for her to make out the outlines of its passengers and what was undoubtedly an advert on the side (which she would be able to read, if she could read Chinese).**

**The mist was too thick to see the bottom of the ravine, but the rest of the city bathed and glittered in sunlight, lively and flourishing and welcoming.**

**Ekhardt had wandered off somewhere, so Erica took the opportunity to enjoy the view in silence for a minute, the sounds of the city being far away.  They had had a long walk from the muggle village near the base of the mountain, setting off in the early hours of the morning to arrive just before the sun was starting to set.**

**“And, not that it’s necessary, but do you have a host family?” Erica heard a quiet conversation behind her, and listened without turning around. Her husband was talking to a man using a translation charm, the letter had mentioned the official paperwork involved in emigrating to YuanShan and she had little to no interest in it.**

**“Weasley.” Ekhardt gave one of his classic one-word replies, he too was tired from their hike up the mountain.**

**“And your family name?” the man asked.**

**“Fleamont.”**

**“And it’s just the two of you? Husband and wife, correct?”**

**Erica couldn’t miss the fond tone in her husband’s voice. “Correct,” he said, and she finally tore her eyes from the view before her to join the conversation, casting her own translation charm.**

**“Although it’ll be three soon enough,” she said with a smile.**

**The man welcoming them was bald and sported a large bushy white beard that almost reached his knees. He was very short and his ears were pointed, which made Erica think he must have some Goblin ancestry. He wore colourful yellow robes that pooled around his feet but picked themselves up a little when he walked, to reveal the shiny platform soles of his shoes.** **_Definitely goblin ancestry._ **

**“Congratulations. I trust you know where to go from here? Do you need me to call a cab for you?”**

**Erica’s eyes shone in excitement. “That would be much appreciated!” she said.**

*****


	12. Chapter 12

The ballroom was wide and vast, and its ceiling was intimately low and decorated with colourful plaster mouldings. Harriet spared a glance around the magnificent room as she hurried forwards, needing to get past the multitude of guests dressed in vibrant robes, some dancing, some laughing and chatting as they crowded the elegantly tiled floor.

They were in _her_ way, yet they exclaimed and muttered angrily as she pushed past them as if _she_ were the inconvenience. If she didn’t get there in time-

The violin’s sweet slow melody changed into something faster, with exotic riffs in a demanding pace. The dancers sped up accordingly and Harriet ran, dodging collisions- whirling through them- wishing she could just blast them away. But at least, once she cleared the floor, it was in sight. The violin’s tone changed again to something that screeched and scratched and screamed. The dancefloor turned into chaos behind her, colourful robes mixing into a blinding white glow.

It was so close, so close soclosesoclosesoclose.

It- the vermillion glow she’d dreamed of, the warmth, the completion, the salvation- everything would be over if they’d just _stand aside, stupid-_

The screeches of the violin were louder now as she stood before it, and it was, indeed, playing itself, floating in midair and working itself up into a frenzy. Just beyond that, not far, she thought, and reached out to still the bow… and the room exploded into green light.

*

Harriet awoke with a jerk, feeling like she’d fallen down the stairs again, her breathing fast. Her left eye _hurt_ , and her pyjamas were soaked with cold sweat. She groaned and shuddered, pushing the sheets away with sleep-stiff limbs, tickling the sleeping adder on her pillow, silently parting the bed curtains and sliding off the bed to her feet. It was not yet dawn, and the only sound to be heard were the quiet snores and snuffles of her sleeping classmates.

Harriet’s bed was between Bulstrode’s, to the left, and Davis’s, to the right. The Slytherin first-year girl’s dormitory was arranged with seven four-poster beds in a row on one side and the wardrobes and dressers on the opposite wall to them. A long, green turkish rug ran the length of the room, which was matched by small rugs by each of the beds. Other than the rugs, the floor was bare stone.

The wall, like the floor, was bare stone hung with tapestries showing scenes of the castle from a distance and the forbidden forest. According to _Hogwarts, a History,_ many of the landscape tapestries in the castle changed with the seasons, but Harriet had yet to see that. Along with the tapestries were four windows, three showed little but dull green light as they looked up to the lake bottom, but the fourth and most useful was an enchanted window that showed a view from one of the towers, and it was by that window that Harriet knew that the sun had not yet risen. The enchanted window was at the other end of the room and took up almost the whole wall, the deep windowsill lined with emerald cushions.

On Harriet’s side of the room was the door to the shared bathroom with six toilet cubicles, five shower cubicles and one large, luxurious bathtub. Confusingly enough, the bath was positioned in its own cubicle, which from the outside looked the same size and shape as the shower cubicles. At the end of the room was another large window that looked out into the lake, although should anyone decide that diving down to the depths of the lake was worth peeking in on the girl’s bathroom, all they would be able to see would be the artful circular arrangement of seven basins built into an oversized marble statue of a coiled snake, if anything.

It was to the bathroom that Harriet headed now, thinking that she may as well indulge in the luxuries of the lone bathtub since no-one else was awake to hog it. The bath started to fill itself immediately as she opened the door, and the room was filled with the strong scent of fresh crushed mint leaves. She peeled off her sweat-soaked pyjamas and stuffed them into the charmed basket by the door before submerging herself in the minty-cool-boiling-hot water.

Hermione had been quite shocked at the opulence of the Slytherin bathroom when she’d told her about it, and partially amused by the description of the central statue in the bathroom.

“Well, we certainly don’t have a giant gilded lion in our dorm’s bathroom,” she had giggled, “I doubt one would fit.”

Harriet had reminded the Gryffindor girl that in _Hogwarts, A History,_ Salazar Slytherin’s more benign interests had included plumbing and bathroom design. It only made sense that he would show favouritism to his own house by ensuring they had the most lavish bathrooms in the castle.

Harriet dried herself and slipped the freshened pyjamas back on, and stepped out of the bathroom to see that the sun had just started to rise, the greyed out pinks and blues highlighting less obvious colours in the tapestries and rugs, and giving the scattered parchments and white quills a slight glow. Harriet drew all the curtains around her bed open as quietly as she could, but was answered by a curtain being drawn back on one of the other beds.

“You’re up early, Harriet.”

“Davis. Sorry, I had a weird nightmare, did I wake you?” Harriet whispered.

The dark-eyed girl pouted. “No, it’s fine- you can call me Tracey, you know.”

“Alright, Tracey.” _Davis seems to be a genuinely decent person. I hope I can make at least one real friend here._

Tracey grinned. “Wonderful. Want to talk about your dream or anything? Curfew isn't over yet, and I don’t feel like going back to sleep.”

“I don’t remember too much of it- but I do remember there was screaming and green light before I woke up.”

Tracey sucked in a sharp breath. “Green light? Are you sure?”

Harriet nodded. “Green. Bright, electric, toxic green.”

Tracey sat bolt upright and fidgeted with her hands on her lap. “Do you know what that is? The green light?” Her voice shook.

Harriet shook her head, “I- “ she started, and looked down.

“The killing curse is green.” Tracey said quietly.

“I thought it was something like that. I’ve seen it before in my dreams, and something about that light felt real, and terrifying.”

“I’d bet,” Tracey shuddered. “Pinch me if I ever complain about how boring and normal my life is again, will you?”

Harriet giggled. “You’re a witch at a school full of magic. How is that boring and normal?”

Tracey gave Harriet a blank look and shrugged. “Let’s change into our school robes and go to the owlery before everybody else wakes up. Curfew will be over in a few minutes.”

Harriet nodded. Owls, despite the owl shunt leading down into the common room, didn’t like to come down to the dungeons. Hedwig, Tracey’s owl Mina, and the other Slytherin owls stayed with the school owls in the owlery. They dressed in silence, Harriet taming her unruly hair into a single fat plait and shoving her pointed cap onto her head.

Most of the portraits along the corridors and many staircases were still asleep, but when they got to the owlery it was a hive of activity. Owls of all sizes flew back and forth from the windows, some with letters or parcels tied to their legs. Others carried the sad remains of small rodents in their beaks or talons, and one, Draco’s eagle owl, was casually tucking into half a rabbit on a windowsill. Hedwig landed on Harriet’s shoulder with a _whoompf_ of feathers and a slight prick of talons. They settled down near the window as far from the snacking eagle owl as possible, Tracey with her friendly barn owl, and indulged in small talk while giving their owls plenty of attention as the last dregs of pink sunrise cleared from the sky.

“We’ve got our first potions lesson this morning. My uncle told me Snape’s a nightmare of a teacher,” Tracey said, idly scratching behind Mina’s head and the barn owl’s eyes fluttered closed in pleasure, “but John was a ‘Puff, and I heard Snape plays favourites with his Snakes, so maybe it won’t be too bad.”

“I’ve been studying over the holidays as much as possible. I told you that Snape brought my Hogwarts letter to me, and he’s quite frightening when he’s angry. I even practiced on the Dursley’s cooking to avoid being on the wrong end of is ire.” Harriet said.

Tracy looked shocked. “Wait- you dosed your muggles?”

“No, I just-” Harriet started, giggling- “Oh, I think I’d be expelled if I did something like that! No, one of the books Snape recommended outlined ways of preparing ingredients and different stirring patterns- _The Practical Potioneer’s Handbook_ by Dr. Mefodiy Lagunov, I learned how to dice potatoes to perfection, among other things.”

“That’s some dedication- Snape must have really terrified you. Dad’s shown me how to make some basic household potions- but I’d never thought of volunteering to do the cooking like that.” Tracey laughed.

“I hardly volunteered!” Harriet protested. “I thought I might as well make use of something I have to do three times or more every day anyway, that’s all. And Snape’s not that bad.”

“Wait, you cook all the meals, every day?” Tracey looked confused.

“My Aunt does all the baking, makes Sunday roasts and Christmas dinner, but apart from that, pretty much. I do all the cleaning too.” Harriet deadpanned, letting Hedwig nibble on her ear affectionately.

“Your muggles sound like slave-drivers.”

Harriet stared out over the castle grounds before replying. “I like that.”

“What?” The other girl’s confusion deepened.

“I like it when people call the Dursleys ‘my muggles’ instead of ‘my family’ or ‘my guardians’ or, God forbid, ‘my carers’. They’re not really any of that, but they’re definitely muggles. Awful muggles.”

Tracey, at once, shook her head. “I don’t think I like it that much- the way some other Slytherins say the word, like a slur, I just want to yell at them ‘They’re people too!’, you know- but that won’t do anyone any good- especially not me.”

Harriet wasn’t going to admit to Tracey how the way some of the Slytherins said ‘muggle’ as if it were something foul- the same way Vernon had said ‘freak’- felt like it healed some wound deep inside of her. “But you call them my muggles.”

Tracey shrugged. “I guess- but that’s because you obviously don’t like them.”

Hedwig gave Harriet’s ear one last gentle nip before hopping onto the windowsill, clacking her beak, and soaring away. Harriet stood up and brushed her robes off, sawdust drifting lazily to the stone floor. “And you love your family. Well, at least I have no urges to defend mine, not that that matters-”

Tracey chuckled weakly. “-after you told Malfoy to stick it for the second time because he called Granger a Mudblood? Good luck with that.”

“That wasn’t exactly what happened-” Harriet started, laughing, but they were interrupted.

“You shouldn’t say that word,” said a thin, tired voice. The girls turned in unison to stare at an older girl in Ravenclaw robes who was glowering down at them. Her straight mousy hair was tied back in a painful-looking high ponytail, leaving a few tufts of hair to stick out at the front and sides, and her peaked cap was stuffed into her belt. She held a letter in one hand, her angry grip creasing the paper.

“I understand, Prefect.” Tracey muttered, ducking her head. “Come on, let’s go, Harriet. Everyone else is probably up by now.”

The Prefect held up a hand. “No, I don’t think you do. I was well within my rights to take points, but considering you’re first-years, I won’t. But whatever your pureblood families have told you about blood-status determining a person’s worth-”

The two Slytherins gave the Prefect an incredulous look as she went on with her lecture.

“-OWL and NEWT scores from the last decade have shown no significant difference between pure-blood, half-blood, and muggleborn students, furthermore-”

Harriet bit down on her knuckle to stop herself from laughing, and Tracey was hiding her face by looking at the floor.

*

Erica fiddled with her letter as she climbed the steps to the owlery, having been too tired to send it last night. She was a little jealous of Dorit, getting to spend her fourth year in the South of France studying at Beauxbatons, but her friend had been so enthusiastic in their correspondence that when she read her letters, it felt like they were in the Ravenclaw common room together again. Still, she was glad that Dorit would only be gone for a year, no matter how much the other girl enjoyed the sunny climate. Dorit’s older brother was an alumni of the Beauxbatons, Erica had been told, and she’d heard stories about the palace-school from when she was little. Now Dorit was studying there, improving her french, and sending letters back home just how her brother had done years ago.

Erica missed her.

She opened the door to the owlery quietly and carefully, noticing two younger girls chatting near a window. Without thinking about it, she listened in.

“...a Mudblood? Good luck with that.”

Erica froze for a moment as the girls laughed, before she stormed over (walked quietly and calmly) to the window nook.

“You shouldn’t say that word!” she thundered (barely managed to say out loud), glaring at the two Slytherin girls. Slytherins, who else? Well, she could do something to _educate_ these ignorant little pureblood brats, couldn’t she? She could tell them the facts of the matter, and maybe something would stick and they’d start to realise that most everything their parents and their parent’s friends and so on, had ever told them about wizarding blood was wrong. Maybe? Hopefully? And possibly make life easier for muggleborn students like herself?

She went on with the carefully drafted lecture, trying to ignore the random doubts that popped up. _The first year girls look appropriately ashamed of themselves,_ she thought. _Yes, this whole being a Prefect thing could work-_

That was, until the black-haired girl burst out into laughter, prompting her companion to similarly lose it. What had she done wrong? Was their prejudice just so deep that even considering that muggleborn and pureblood witches and wizards were equal inherently hilarious to them?

“Oh, I can’t-” the little brunette giggled, wiping at her eyes.

“Sorry, Prefect-” the other started, “It’s just- that’s- we’re neither of us pureblood and really couldn’t agree more-”

The black-haired one wore her messy fringe over-long so it obscured a good amount of her face, the rest of her hair in a plait that reached the middle of her back. This must be the Potter girl, the one everyone went oddly silent for during the sorting ceremony, the one she’d heard odd rumours about in the four years she’d been at Hogwarts. She’d tried to remember all the first years at this year’s sorting, considering that she was a prefect, but couldn’t for the life of her remember anything about the black-eyed brunette friend of Potter’s.

“Explain yourselves, then,” she said with a sigh.

Potter scuffed her shoes on the ground for a bit before looking up speaking. “We were just talking about how one of our classmates tried to stop me from spending time with another classmate because she’s muggleborn. That’s all.”

The girl’s one-eyed stare was disconcerting to say the least, even if her eyepatch was mostly hidden by that fringe. Erica was telling off a living legend- and wasn’t that something? _No,_ she reprimanded herself, _just another first-year student._

“Okay, I believe you. Now go down to breakfast, the pair of you,” Erica finally said, straightening out her letter and seeking out an owl that could make a trip to the Pyrenees.

*

Draco half-listened to Pansy’s incessant prattling on about something or the other; it wouldn’t be important or interesting enough for him to find out what, that's for sure.

He scanned the Slytherin table, and sure enough Harriet was sitting with the mudblood Davis girl again. Draco could make nice with Blood Traitors for her friendship, but there were _limits._ Should he ignore them for now? Probably. It wouldn’t be good to seem too desperate for Harriet’s friendship- she’d come to him eventually. The girl seemed to think blood meant nothing- as if a mudblood could ever be as powerful as a wizard from a prestigious pureblood family. But Potter had been raised by muggles, she’d said, so she’ll learn the truth after spending time with her own kind.

And Draco was more than willing to help her learn.

*

“Come to see me again, girl?” Harriet tickled a spot above Hedwig’s beak and let the owl help herself to some bacon off her plate while she untied a small, untidy note from her leg.

She beamed when she read it- it was from Hagrid! She flipped the note over and penned a short reply, accepting the invitation for tea that afternoon. She wondered if Hagrid could tell her anything about her father- Snape hadn’t said much about him at all.

Ever since Snape had revealed the truth about her and her parents, she couldn’t help wondering what life could have been like if her parents had lived and she’d been raised among love and magic. Hagrid must have been close with her parents, to send her a wonderful gift like Hedwig for her birthday.

After breakfast, she headed back to her dorm with Tracey to pick up their satchels before heading to Potions. Thankfully, the classroom wasn’t hard to find, being in the dungeons they’d called home for the past week. The thought that this Friday would be spent with two people who were close friends to her parents, Snape in the morning and Hagrid in the afternoon, put a slight spring in her step as she ascended the steps from the Slytherin dormitories.

*

Pacing the classroom, Severus reviewed his plans to alienate Potter- and their utter lack of success so far. Maybe he could have done worse, but he didn’t want to destroy her trust in adults any more than it already had been. Really, for any other student though, a surprise pop quiz should single them out and embarrass them in front of the entire class. Instead, she’d answered each of the first four questions with textbook precision, and when, in frustration he’d asked a fifth question that wasn’t on the first-year syllabus, he couldn’t find itself within him to mock her lack of answer. And _even worse_ Granger, a Gryffindor student had answered that last question perfectly. The slight satisfaction he got taking a point from Gryffindor for speaking out of turn barely covered the sting of that one.

And Potter had to be preparing all the ingredients perfectly, didn’t she? He only had himself to blame for that- insisting that Lagunov’s book was the best guide to potions making for a complete beginner and that she _had_ to get it if she wanted to do well in his class. Obviously she’d taken those words to heart and _memorised_ the bloody thing.

He looked away from the cauldron she shared with Davis and moved over to his godson’s cauldron. Praising Draco while ignoring Harriet’s efforts should rankle, shouldn’t it?

He’d barely opened his mouth when he was distracted by a commotion from the Gryffindor side of the room.

“The hell do you think you’re doing, Potter?” Finnigan yelled, followed by noises of anger and confusion.

Potter was standing in front of his and Longbottom’s cauldron clutching a fistful of porcupine quills, breathing heavily.

“I-” she started, looking uncertain and scared, “I just saw that Longbottom was going to put the quills in the cauldron- and-”

“And?” Weasley started, his eyes narrowed. “You decided to mess with his work?”

Potter’s visible eye widened, “No- it’s- the drawings are quite gruesome- and they _move- it’s horrifying._ ”

Severus knew that the girl was only going to become more incoherent if he let this continue. He stepped forwards.

“What Miss Potter is trying and miserably failing to tell you bunch of morons-” he said, walking up to Finnigan’s cauldron, “-is that my instructions clearly state that the cauldron must be moved off the heat _before_ adding the porcupine quills.”

He snatched a handful of porcupine quills from a desk as he passed. “Everybody get back.” he barked. The first years hurried away from him as he stood over the cauldron and cast a shield around the cleared area. “I think that a demonstration is in order” he said before dropping the quills into the mixture. There was silence as the cauldron bubbled over, hissing loudly and spitting clouds of green smoke into the air, and shouts as the cauldron gave way, melting like it had been transfigured into butter as the potion erupted outwards and upwards, glancing off Severus’ protective robes and hissing at the edges of the shield charm. He waited to let the message sink in before he vanished the corrosive mess and dropped the shield.

“You _will_ pay attention in my class if you would like to survive this school year. Potter! What effect would this particular mixture have had on human skin?”

The girl shuddered, but answered, “The skin would burst out into multiple coin-sized red boils, Sir, and continue to do so until it could be treated or-”

“Good. One point to Slytherin. As Miss Potter here seems to have read _381 simple recipes for disaster, with detailed illustrations_ cover to cover, she will be Mr. Longbottom’s lab partner for every potions lesson this year. Mr. Finnigan, one of the school cauldrons will be allocated to your use.”

Potter and Longbottom looked warily at one another, until Longbottom finally spoke. “Um, thanks for saving me, Potter.”

“N-no problem,” the girl managed to stutter, before straightening up and looking more confident. “I’ll lend you the book if it’s not in the library, although be warned, the illustrations are nightmare fuel.”

Davis clutched Potter’s hand and beamed at her. “Well done.”

 _Albus should be happy with that much,_ Severus thought as he directed his students back to work. He had taught too many students like Longbottom, ones that managed to mess up even the simplest potions in the most spectacular ways. Harriet being forced to take on the burden of Longbottom as lab partner should earn her some measure of gratitude and approval from the Gryffindors as Albus seemed to want, as well as preventing a number of potions accidents. If the end result was a potentially brilliant student being stuck with a proverbial lead weight, so be it.

*

“Miss Potter, stay behind.”

Harriet closed her quill case and looked up at the professor.

“Yes, Sir.”

The potions lesson had certainly been the most challenging out of all the classes she’d taken so far- regardless of the strong grasp she already had on both the theoretical and practical elements of the subject. The social element- working with Longbottom and Finnigan, really hadn’t been expected.

Finnigan in particular made his distrust and suspicion of her known, despite the fact that she’d saved his partner and possibly him as well from a quite painful fate. In dealing with the Gryffindors she was reminded of the children at primary school who had already decided she was a weird, dangerous freak because of the Dursley’s social influence. This time it was because she was a slimy Slytherin who could speak to snakes and had ‘set her snake on Ron’s rat’. Finnigan didn’t dare say anything, but she’d heard the rumours and could see how much he disliked her. Thankfully, she’d only be working with Longbottom from now on, who seemed to be much less prejudiced, and even more nervous than she was.

When the class had packed up and left, Harriet approached the teacher’s desk with trepidation. She didn’t think she’d done anything wrong, or had she?

Professor Snape stood before his desk, a thoughtful look on his face.

“You’ve read all of the set books and the recommended ones too? Have you done this for your other subjects?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Good. If Longbottom proves too much for you, let me know. And, Harriet, if you have any questions about Potions- or anything, my door is always open. I am your Head of House, after all.”

Harriet wanted to point out that he’d said that already when he first addressed the new Slytherins, but was smart enough not to.


	13. Chapter 13

After dinner, Harriet went back down to the dungeons again to pick up a lazy, complaining viper before heading across the castle grounds towards Hagrid’s cottage. Her woolen cloak flapped around her in the wind, her pointed cap jammed over her ears and green scarf wrapped around the lower half of her face leaving her right eye visible. Her hair had come unbound, those strands not trapped by the scarf were flattened against her or flailing wildly in the cold air. The path to the Gamekeeper’s cottage was a darkened muddy trail against the wet grass, providing little foothold, limiting Harriet’s pace to a careful plod lest she slip and fall.

Finally, she reached the small wooden house and knocked on the disproportionately large door.

“Fang, get back here, you-” Hagrid shouted, as a dog barked and scrabbled at the door.

There was the sound of a struggle among loud barking. “Keep hold of him, act’ly better not- I’ve got ‘im now- could ya get the door?”

The door opened slowly, and Harriet found herself face-to-face with none other than Ronald Weasley. The dog’s barks were frantic, now, and the boy hurriedly stepped back to let her in. She stepped through promptly, and together they shut the door before the dog slipped free of his collar and rushed them.

Harriet froze.

The black dog was gigantic- bigger than Ripper and at least twice as wide. Drool flecked its swinging jowls as it came closer- Harriet backed into the door, reaching out-

“Fang,  _ back! _ ” Hagrid shouted, finally grabbing the dog around the neck and refastening a wide leather collar on it. The dog seemed to calm down. “Sorry about that, Harriet. He’s a big softie really- wouldn’t hurt yeh.”

_ “Dog? Get out of here, before it finds me!” _ Mr. Snake panicked, at once awake.

“Uh.” Harriet managed to squeak, and tightened her grip on Ron’s arm, before she realised what she’d grabbed hold of, and released him, looking horrified.  _ What is  _ he  _ doing here? _

“Sit, Fang. Not great with dogs, Harriet?” Hagrid gave her a sympathetic smile. “I can put him outside if you’d like.”

“It’s fine. I’m fine,” she said,  _ “it’s alright.” _

_ “It’s not! I can still smell dog!”  _ the viper cried.

_ “I won’t let anything happen to you, It’s all right” _ she hissed, comforting him with the first words she’d ever said to him.

“Ah, you brought your familiar along, come on- do make yerselves at home, the pair of you.”

The two children took their places at the table as Hagrid poured them both tea. “My Aunt is a dog breeder- and her dogs don’t like me much.” Harriet offered as an explanation.

“Petunia?” Hagrid asked. “Wouldn’t have thought she’d be into that sort of thing.”

Harriet sipped at her tea. “No, Aunt Marge- Uncle Vernon’s sister.”

“That’s the dog that chased you up a tree, right?” Ron butted in. “Ripper? You said on the train-”

“Yeah. Ripper.”

“Bloody Dursleys. They shouldn’t get away with the way they treated you, Harriet. Professor Snape told me all about them- but tha’s not a pleasant thing to talk about. You enjoying yer lessons so far?”

Harriet nodded. “Transfiguration is difficult- but everyone else is struggling too, so it’s not so bad. Hedwig is really great; I didn’t get to thank you for her before.”

“Least I could do for James’ and Lily’s daughter, an’ yer takin’ real good care of her too. So, what lessons have you had today?”

“We had double Potions. She saved Longbottom from getting exploded today,” said Ron.

“Really?” Hagrid flashed her a grin. “You’ll have to tell me all about it.”

Harriet hid behind her cup, but Ron happily recounted the events of the day’s Potions lesson in detail. Harriet let her eyes wander to a newspaper cutting, reading it and letting out a shocked breath.

“What is it?” Hagrid asked.

“This story- why, the bank was robbed when I was in London, with Professor Snape. It might even have happened while we were visiting the bank!” Harriet exclaimed.

Hagrid looked away. “Only a complete nutter would rob Gringotts. So, yeh brought yer familiar with, did you? Haven’t much experience wi’ snakes, me’self.”

Hagrid’s reaction and hasty change of subject was not lost on the Slytherin, who filed it away for later while she encouraged the nervous viper to extract himself from where he was hiding, coiled around her neck like a chunky scaly necklace, and accept a few owl treats.  _ “It’s okay, the dog’s not going to do anything- it’s safe, look, I’ve told you about Hagrid, he won’t hurt you, dear one.” _

_ “I haven’t met any other snakes yet, but I’ve scented some of their tracks. Ask about the snakes that live here, Harry.” _

“Hagrid, what do you know about the snakes that live on the castle grounds?” 

“There’s plenty of adders if yeh know where to look for ‘em. Tell most students that’re interested to leave ‘em alone, but they can’t exactly hold a conversation with ‘em, so yeh can find wild adders on the south bank of the hill near the Quidditch pitch. That is, if the conditions be right and all,” said Hagrid, before getting up. “I think the rock cakes’ll be done by now, so I’ll just go and check on ‘em.”

_ “There’s wild adders here, my friend. Do you want to meet them?”  _

Mr. Snake twitched his tail back and forth, looking agitated.  _ “I don’t know. Maybe. Just one?” _

_ “I’ll come with you.”  _ Harriet promised. Mr. Snake yawned and curled up, unresponsive.

“You said he’d be looking for a mate this year.” Ron said, once again reminding Harriet of their conversation on the train. 

“Yes, probably. I don’t know how that’s going to work out in the end.” Harriet tried to think of a way she could ask Ron what he was even doing in Hagrid’s house without seeming rude. “So, you’re friends with Hagrid?”

“Yeah, well, Charlie- you know, my brother that works with dragons- is a good friend of Hagrid’s. I ran into Hagrid and the Headmaster after dinner- literally, that is-” Ron winced, “and we ended up talking about Charlie. So, what about you?”

“He was a friend of my parents’- like Professor Snape.” Harriet said a little stiffly, not wishing to say too much more in front of the Gryffindor. 

“Look- I know you didn’t mean for your snake to kill Scabbers- or, well, maybe I didn’t care about that at the time, and you still should’ve kept a better watch on him-”

“I’ve already apologised for that.”

“Yeah, just, we’re okay, right? I’ll try to stop the rumour that you set the snake on Scabbers, because that’s not true and not fair. I guess a lot of people thought when you sorted Slytherin that you must be evil or something-”

“That’s really not fair,” Harriet said, thinking about all the people she’d met in Slytherin House- none of whom she’d considered anywhere near evil. “Slytherin isn’t evil.”

Ron shifted in his chair a little. “Well-”

“There’s not a single witch or wizard who went bad who wasn’t in Slytherin.” Hagrid placed a plate of cakes on the table, a slightly-burnt aroma filling the room.

Harriet stood, quivering. “That’s not even remotely true!”

“Can yeh name one?”

“Gellert Grindelwald.” Harriet shot a glare at Hagrid. “He didn’t even go to Hogwarts.”

_ “What’s with all this?”  _ Mr Snake’s hisses were almost drowned out.

“Now look, I didn’t mean all Slytherins go bad- I can name plenty that are decent folk, like our Professor Snape, but you have to admit-”

Harriet sat back down. “I know. Most convicted Death-Eaters were from Slytherin house, but that could be because Voldemort-” Ron and Hagrid shuddered, “-claimed to be the heir of Slytherin. Maybe the next Dark Lord will claim to be the heir of Hufflepuff or something.  _ Don’t worry, they’re just being idiots. _ ”

_ “They smell scared.” _

“Yeh know an awful lot about You-Know-Who for a firs’ year,” said Hagrid.

“I’ve read Egill’s book about him and Grindelwald. It was very… informative.” Harriet had been a little miffed to learn that the book she had purchased in Flourish and Blotts was in fact one part of a larger whole, namely,  _ The Rise and Fall of The Dark Arts,  _ which covered all of the known history on the subject, rather than the current century’s. She was currently two chapters in to Hermione’s copy. 

“Ah, I see. You like books, then?” Hagrid took the opportunity to steer the conversation away from the dark arts.

Harriet nodded. “Muggle books too. The Dursleys had a collection-  _ The Everyman’s Library _ , all matching and neat- I think they were just for show, though. They never noticed when I took one. And I have this-” she took her  _ Observer’s Guide  _ out of her pocket. 

“Dad has one of those!” Ron exclaimed. “I think it’s about arrow-planes or something.”

Dark arts were not mentioned again.

*

  
  


**The idea of a Weasley in Slytherin was one of the strangest things Lucius had ever encountered, so naturally, he took it upon himself to take the red-headed girl under his wing the moment she approached the Slytherin table. He had always enjoyed working out little mysteries, especially those mysteries behind a person’s motivations.** **_If you understand how a person’s mind works,_ ** **his father had said,** **_you can find a way to make them work in your favour._ **

**Merula was quiet at first- less shy and more carefully observant. She would only join in a conversation when prompted, and then she would give a most careful and concise answer that left out as much information about herself as possible. She wouldn’t cry at being the subject of a mean prank, even when Lucius had seen the rest of the students away so he could comfort her alone. She looked curious rather than horrified at the mention of the dark arts**

**It seemed that she felt she had been thrown to a gang of wolves, but instead of hiding away, she was trying to learn how to be one. It was a smart strategy- one befitting of a Slytherin. It was also clearly not the way her family wanted her to deal with the situation. Her brothers pestered her daily to join them at the Gryffindor table for meals, and rumour had it that her parents had begged the Headmaster to transfer her to a different House. Merula did her best to ignore her family’s desperate efforts the same way she ignored the Slytherins who called her a blood-traitor.**

**This is all why it came as no surprise when the girl in question announced that she was staying at school over the Christmas holidays.**

**“Really? I think you’ll be the only one in our entire House,” Ellen Macnair, another first-year, announced from where she was sprawled across one of the couches in the common room with her cat. “Although I can’t blame you for wanting to get away from that family of yours. They sound unbearable.”**

**Lucius gave Merula a sympathetic smile. “I guess you’ll be able to get all your homework done in peace and quiet.”**

**A slightly wistful look crossed Merula’s face as she nodded. “There is that, I suppose.”**

*****

**Part of Merula had been hoping for- fantasising about, an invitation to spend Christmas, or** **_Yule_ ** **, as they preferred to call it, at Malfoy Manor. When the Express left without her, she’d been forced to admit that this Yuletide would be spent alone with copious amounts of homework. Merula’s pride wouldn’t let her go back on this decision, no matter how persuasive her parent’s letters could be. She doubted this Christmas would be like old times, anyway. There’d be** **_questions_ ** **, and** **_worry_ ** **, and** **_blame_ ** **. All directed at her. Which made her foot-long essay on the history of locks and unlocking charms practically enjoyable in comparison. She muttered the password to the Slytherin common room, holding several books she’d checked out of the library herself (even the librarian had gone home), expecting to be alone in the common room.**

**“Oh. You’re that Weasley girl.”**

**Merula spun around, tightening her grip on the books. “Yeah, what’s it to you?”**

**An unassuming-looking older student sat at one of the tables surrounded by piles of books and parchment. Merula clearly hadn’t been the only one taking advantage of the librarian’s absence to check out as many books as she wanted. The girl looked around Arthur’s age and sported ugly, square framed spectacles and long blonde hair tied up into a lazy bun on top of her head.**

**“Ah, the only daughter of a Gryffindor family shocks them all by breaking tradition and being sorted into Slytherin. I wonder, how will the story end?” The blonde tittered into her hand.**

**Merula pulled a face at her and stalked over to the table, slamming her books down onto it. “Glad my life’s amusing to you,” she said, and walked over to the other girl. “What’s that, transfiguration? It looks pretty advanced.”**

**“Anything would look advanced to a first-year like you, but yes, this is beyond the level of anything taught here. I’m** **_very_ ** **good at transfiguration,” the older girl boasted, before taking out her wand and tapping a scrap of parchment which turned into an elegant glass vase. Another tap filled it with conjured flowers that glowed with a soft, silvery light.**

**“Pretty,” said Merula, unimpressed. “What are you doing here over the holidays, anyway?”**

**“Studying. And you? Does your morally upstanding family not want their little snake back?”**

**“No, what the hell is wrong with you?” Merula shook her head. “The truth is that I was half-afraid that they wouldn’t let me come back here if I went home this holiday,” she sighed.**

**“How heartbreaking. Your first Christmas alone, poor child. Now, I really must study.” The girl made a shooing motion  with her hand. Merula glared at her, but drew out a chair at the table and made a start on her Charms homework.**

*****

Harriet drew the curtains of her bed before flopping down onto the green blanket neatly covering the white sheets, drawing in a deep breath before unfolding the newspaper she’d taken from the common room.  _ “You remember when we went to London with Professor Snape…” _

Mr. Snake peeked out from under a pillow.  _ “Of course. It was the first time you’d ever shown me to anyone- so many people, I could never forget.” _

_ “Do you remember the bank? Gringotts? Or were you asleep then?” _

_ “I must have been asleep. Tell me, then, about this bank. You smell intrigued.” _

Harriet relayed story of the palatial goblin-run bank, white marble pillars and polished countertops, taking time to describe everything in fine detail as she always did, as Mr. Snake had always demanded.  _ “…and in the vault was nothing, nothing but this tiny, grubby little parcel that could easily be mistaken for a piece of rubbish, or a rock kicked in on someone’s shoe. Snape looked unsurprised, just picked it up and put it in his pocket and didn’t say anything about it- I didn’t ask, of course.” _

_ “So, what was in the parcel?” _

_ “I don’t know, but I’ve been thinking about it. Snape said that Dumbledore had sent a message ahead to Gringotts about it, so maybe the vault and the parcel belong to the Headmaster. I hadn’t thought anything of it at first but here, in this paper, it says that Gringotts was broken into- on the very same day we were there,  _ and  _ that the thief didn’t take anything, because the vault they broke into  _ was emptied earlier that day. _ The parcel was the only thing in vault 713. It could be a coincidence, but I think the parcel was what the thief was after…” _

_ “The parcel must be something of incredible value- a weapon, perhaps, for the thief can be no ordinary witch or wizard if what you told me about the bank is true. They broke in and got away with it, and of all the riches that must be held there, they may have been after that one little thing.” _

Harriet shifted nervously at the viper’s insight.  _ “I think we should probably keep out of all this, it sounds really dangerous. What’s worse, I think I know where they’ve hidden the parcel- I think it’s here, at Hogwarts,”  _ she said, having only just put the pieces together.

_ “The third floor corridor that’s out of bounds?” _

_ “Yes. The third floor corridor.” _

_ “We will keep out of this, then. And not go anywhere near the third floor corridor.”  _ Mr. Snake said with some finality, before slithering back under the pillow.

Harriet sighed, leaving the bed to change into her pyjamas, before sleep took her. If only she could have lasted her first week at a school for magic  _ without  _ stumbling upon some frightening conspiracy.

*

 


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the ridiculously late update- turns out I didn't have a clue as to how the first part of the story would end and that I really needed to sort that out! Add in writing out other story ideas, a slump of sorts and trouble accessing AO3 (a browser extension turned out to be the problem), and I didn't get much done in the last 3 months.  
> I've found that it really helps to re-read your work when you're in a slump so you can see that it's not all as bad as you think it is.

Harriet poked at her plate with a fork, half-wishing she could speak to someone _ who wasn’t a reptile _ about the parcel she was now certain was hidden on the third-floor corridor. She’d tried speaking to Snape after potions, but was shut down unnecessarily harshly and it had taken all of her strength to keep her composure and not burst into tears. Mr. Snake was right, she should keep it to herself and keep herself out of it, and Professor Snape was probably right in that she was too nosy for her own good. It itched, knowing there was something going on but not being able to do anything about it. Because surely, surely if the thief could go as far as breaking into a high-security bank vault, they’d track their quarry down to Hogwarts? How long would it take? Did they already know it was here?

“Potter.”

“What?” she asked, levelling a glare at Malfoy, who sat across from her. They weren’t really on speaking terms any more, and had stopped using each other’s first names.

“Could you get your letter and send your owl on its merry way, already?”

“What? Oh, right.” 

Between a tureen of potatoes and a tray of carrots sat Hedwig, who was carefully grooming her feathers and had a tiny scrolled up note tied to one foot with glossy purple string. When Harriet reached out to her, the owl simply extended the foot with the note out, balancing on one foot as easily as on two and without a break in her fastidious grooming. 

The purple string disappeared the moment Harriet touched it, almost causing her to drop the scrolled note which, upon being released from its bonds, sprung open in her fingers.

_ Harriet, I would like to see you in my office after dinner today. The password is ‘peppermint drops’. _

_ Albus Dumbledore _

Barely a second after she’d read the note, it disappeared. Harriet froze, mind racing and with a mild expression of horror on her face. _He knows I know about the thing hidden in the school. Is he going to wipe my memory or something?_ _He could probably do that_ , she thought.

Hedwig stole a morsel of chicken from her plate and flapped off, leaving the petrified girl to finish her meal while fending off her classmate’s questions. 

“I’ve just got to talk to a teacher about something; I don’t know when I’ll be back,” she told Tracey as they left the Great Hall. Even with the level of confidence the two girls had with each other, Harriet didn’t want to explain why she might be in trouble this time.

Lost in worries, she trudged along corridors and up staircases before realising that she didn’t have the first clue as to where the Headmaster’s office might be. She looked around for anyone who might tell her the way, but she had wandered into a truly deserted area of the castle. She kept walking down the corridor, up a flight of stairs, took a left and finally she saw a ghost. Not a first choice to ask for directions, but at least it wasn’t the Bloody Baron.

“Ah, excuse me, sir, would you tell me the way to the headmaster’s office?” she asked courteously.

The ghost, a short man that bobbed a few feet off the ground, was not like any ghost Harriet had seen so far. He was colourful rather than a washed out silvery-grey, and seemed more corporeal. Upon hearing her, he spun around on the spot and grinned widely, displaying an extravagant bow-and-scrape midair.

“And what would the wee firstie want in the Headmaster’s office?” the ghost asked, giggling like she’d just told him a funny joke.

“I’ve been told to go there, but I don’t know the way,” she said.

“Follow me, follow me! I’ve no head for directions but I can show you the way, wee firstie,” said the ghost. 

“Alright, thank you!”

The ghost took off at a speed that required Harriet to jog to keep up, especially when he phased through corners. They headed down a staircase before coming to a halt before a nondescript door. “Just this way, wee firstie, just through here.”

“Are you sure? This doesn’t look like-”

The ghost’s face drew into an unimpressed scowl. “Rude little lady, aren’t you? I bring you all this way, in my own time and you-”

“I’m sorry! It just looks the same as all the other doors we passed on the way...”

The clownish ghost blew a raspberry, and unlocked the door. Harriet took a step forwards into the room before she was pushed in and the door slammed shut behind her. “Caught you!” The ghost flew through the door and spun around the little office like a demented spinning top. “I caught wee Potty! So easy to fool!” 

The ghost bowed again, slowly floating out of the door, which locked with an audible click. Harriet immediately dashed forwards to try the handle, but no luck. 

“What the hell? No! Let me out!” Harriet yelled, pounding on the door. She looked around the dingy room and shuddered- were those  _ manacles  _ hanging from the walls? Ancient filing cabinets stood against the back of the room, and a dozen or so mops in metal buckets were shoved into the corner near the door. Wherever this was, it was not the Headmaster’s office. She’d been tricked by whatever the colourful ghost-thing was.

Harriet tried the door again, before reaching for her wand. She hadn’t learned the spell in class yet, but she remembered it well enough from her textbook.

“ _ Alohamora _ ,” she intoned, tapping the lock with her wand. Nothing happened. “ _ Alohamorry..., Alohamorrui..., Alohamorir.. _ .” 

“ _ Alohomora _ ,” another voice said, and the door swung open, forcing Harriet to take a few hurried steps back. She looked up at two identical faces. “Hey, Hat. What are you doing in Filch’s office?” one said, pushing past her into the room and shutting the door behind him.

“Some stupid ghost thought it would be a good idea to lock me in here,” Harriet said irritably. 

The twin looked up from the drawer he was rifling through with a smirk. “Ghost? What… oh, don’t tell me nobody’s told you about Peeves? He’s the castle’s resident poltergeist.”

Harriet shook her head, filing away the information for later. “Well, what are you doing here? Other than breaking a dozen school rules by going through those cabinets.”

“Just collecting some personal belongings,” he said. “Ah, that’s them. Can’t let our entire stock of dungbombs stay confiscated, now can we?” Weasley lifted a cardboard box that was a similar size to a shoebox from the drawer.

“I suppose not,” said Harriet, with a rising sense of horror.  _ Dungbombs _ ?

“Alright. Just one more thing and we can get out of here. I’m afraid, Hat, that as trustworthy as you seem, seeming’s not enough and we’re going to need a little…  _ insurance  _ that you’re not going to tell a teacher what you saw here,” said Weasley, having selected one of the small, round items from the box, was turning it around in his hand. He looked over at the door meaningfully, and then back to her.

Harriet snatched the brightly-wrapped dungbomb from his fingers. “Fine. You want me to trap the door with this, don’t you? I’ll do it if you show me the way to the Headmaster’s office, I have an appointment and I’m already late.”

Weasley raised his eyebrows in surprise before his features settled into a sly grin. “Deal. You catch on fast,” he said, and walked over to the office door, knocking on it twice. When three answering raps came, he opened the door and passed the box through. “Just put it on the handle with a weak sticking charm. You can do that can’t you?”

Harriet nodded. Sticking charms had been difficult to get the hang of at first, but she had practised them enough to be fairly confident now. A little wandwork and one muttered incantation later, she was free from the intimidating little office.

“I’m sure you don’t need us to tell you that you’re not going to say anything about where you saw us,” the other twin said conversationally.

Weasley put his hand on Harriet’s shoulder and they set off walking down the corridor. “No worries, Fred, I made sure she can’t say anything without implicating herself as well. The poor kid was led astray by Peeves on the way to the Headmaster’s office. I’ll be taking her there.”

“Finally got sick of Malfoy, Harriet? You were practically stuck to each other for the first few days and now-” Fred trailed off, waiting for Harriet to speak.

They continued walking in silence until Harriet answered, reaching a wider corridor with a few students milling about and turning left to take a staircase. Harriet remembered Draco’s hurtful words spoken in a calm, matter-of-fact tone,  _ People like her don’t deserve to be here _ , and how stupid she felt for dismissing the horrible things she’d read about as bygones.

“We had a difference of opinion,” Harriet finally said.

“Ah. Thought that might happen sooner or later. I’ll stash these and see you in Potions later, George” said Fred. He clapped his brother on the arm and went back the way they came.

“I don’t suppose you expect Malfoy to come and beg your forgiveness again, do you?” asked George.

“No, I don’t think so. Say, what do you think about the thing with the third floor corridor?” Harriet desperately changed the subject.

“Had a look. There’s a freaking Cerberus in there. Didn’t bother going any further than that,” said George, pulling a face.

“A… like a dog with three heads?” Harriet asked, lowering her voice as they passed a group of Hufflepuff girls.

“Exactly.”

“Well, it’s got to be guarding something, hasn’t it? Have you thought about what it might be guarding?” asked Harriet, prodding around for an answer.

George looked down at her, which was not a difficult task considering the difference in their heights. “What makes you think that?” he asked suspiciously.

Harried chewed at her bottom lip, deciding how much she wanted to tell the older boy. “Cerberi are famous for being guard dogs. I can’t quite remember the legend, but I remember reading about a hero who defeated the Cerberus guarding the underworld by playing a lute.”

“Can’t say I’ve ever heard that one. So, Hat, is it your dastardly sneaky Slytherin plan to steal whatever’s being hidden on the third floor corridor? Because it sure sounds like it. And so far, you haven’t convinced me to help you with it.”

“What? No, I’m not- But I  _ know  _ someone is going to steal it. And whoever the thief is, they…” Harriet looked around and dropped her voice into a whisper, “ _...they already broke into Gringotts and got away with it. _ ”

George laughed. “Now I know you’re making things up. Look, we’re here. Do you have the password?”

“I’m not lying- and you better not go spreading this around,” she said. George’s demeanour didn’t change in the slightest. Sensing defeat, Harriet turned to the stone gargoyle before her. “Peppermint drops,” she sighed. 

*

The cold manner in which most of her housemates treated her was mostly her fault, Tracey thought. Had she not been quite so eager to talk about her family, and therefore her dubious blood-status, she could be included in their friendly discourse. It was probably thanks to Harriet that she hadn’t been faced with open hostility yet, as many of the students were still wary of the legendary Girl-Who-Lived. It took only a couple of weeks before someone figured that Harriet Potter was just a first-year girl without any real power or influence.

Tracey was reading alone after dinner when her book snagged itself out of her hands and flew across the common room. She clenched her fists in front of her, half expecting it to just be a silly way to get her attention- but an unfamiliar boy, a fifth year at least by the looks of him, was dangling the paperback from his hand by one of the cover flaps. 

“What’s this muggle filth, then?” he demanded, an ugly sneer on his face. 

“That’s none of your business! Give it back!” She stood up from her chair, and stormed over to where 

“Oh, I don’t think so,” he taunted, waving the book about. He opened it at a random page, and read aloud. “ _ I think I became a little insane. There was some obscure force struggling inside me, but I felt no desire to do anything. One night, I took a walk on the beach, and looked up at the sky _ \- what the hell is this? It’s dead miserable.”

“Well, Bole, this is quite a surprise. I didn’t know you were literate.”

“Bulstrode.” Bole’s hands holding the book fell, and Tracey quickly snatched it back. “It was just a bit of fun.”

Millie’s brother sauntered up to the burly Quidditch player with a casual smile on his face. “I’m sure you didn’t mean anything by it.”

Bole sat back down with his hands raised in a gesture of submission, and turned to his friends.

“Thank you,” Tracey squeaked out. 

Bulstrode’s smile reached his eyes. “No problem. What book is that? I don’t think I’ve read it.”

Tracey passed the book to him, and watched his eyebrows raise as he took in the front cover. “An interesting reading choice for an eleven-year-old, I must say. Can I borrow it when you’ve finished?” His tone brooked no disagreement.

“S-sure.”

“I’m holding you to that, Davis,” he said, and went over to one of the tables, looking pleased with himself.

*

Harriet finished retying her eyepatch cords and looked back up at Albus.

“Did you find out anything?” she asked, a worried expression in her visible eye.

“Yes… and no. I have no idea what manner of magic caused your left eye to regrow,” Albus lied; dark-  _ extremely dark  _ magic had regenerated the girl’s eye. “It seems to be, as Madam Pomfrey has no doubt already told you, a healthy eye, despite its slight physical abnormalities. There is dark magic present, but it’s difficult to tell anything more than that. Tell me, Harriet, does the eye ever cause you pain?”

Harriet started to shake her head, and froze. “Twice, actually. But only twice. The first time was during the feast after the sorting, and the second time was when I was having a nightmare.”

_ A nightmare? _

“A nightmare? Can you tell me what it was about? It may be important.”

The girl scrunched up her face, trying to recall the details. “I can’t remember much for certain, other than a lot of green light. Everything else is really hazy. I think there was screaming? But I’m not sure.”

Albus frowned. It sounded like Harriet was remembering the night her parents were killed. “And do you remember feeling anything in the dream? Any strong emotions- like…” he trailed off, only just stopping himself from accidentally placing a suggestion in the girl’s mind and kaiboshing his investigation.  _ Strong emotions like fear, _ he nearly said, _ that would be understandable. _

“Desperation. Fury. Impatience. Very strong- but sir, the emotions- they didn’t make sense to me- they didn’t resonate? They, I don’t know…”

“Go on.” 

“It was like they weren’t my emotions at all. It was like there was someone else in my head. It sounds mad, doesn’t it? I know it sounds mad.” Confusion bled into fear, and Harriet looked like she wanted nothing more than to take back everything she just said.

Albus hid his own confusion with a gentle smile. “I don’t think you’re going insane, my girl, so don’t worry yourself about it. The realm of the unconscious is a strange place for any person, and when mixed with magical phenomena it becomes stranger yet. Either way, this information could be very useful in unravelling the mystery behind your left eye. Do tell me- or Professor Snape- if your left eye troubles you again.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Very good. So, Harriet, how are you finding school so far? Made many new friends?”

“It’s difficult sometimes, but it’s really good as well. I’ve got more friends here than I’ve ever had before- Tracey, Millie, Hermione, and Professor Snape has me helping Neville in Potions and he’s really nice to me too- even if he is a dunderhead… uh.” Harriet looked down at her lap, slowly turning red.

Albus chuckled. “I won’t take points, but do try not to insult your classmates no matter what your teachers may have to say about them. Now, I understand that there was an unfortunate incident on the train between yourself and one Mr. Weasley. Would you say that incident has been resolved?”

Harriet looked relieved that her mistake was brushed over so quickly, and was only too happy to answer. “Oh. Well, yes, mostly. I understand how he feels, and he understands that I’m sorry and I didn’t set Mr. Snake on his rat on purpose or anything. We’re okay now.”

_ It worked, thank goodness.  _

“That’s good. You truly would be amazed at how out-of-hand feuds between students can get, the Slytherin-Gryffindor ones in particular. Everyone thought you would be in Gryffindor like your parents, you know? Some Gryffindor students feel slighted that you sorted into Slytherin.”

“Why wouldn’t I have sorted Slytherin? I can speak to snakes,” said Harriet hotly. 

“Yes, when Professor Snape told me about his first proper meeting with you, I knew you would sort into Slytherin. A Gryffindor would struggle to successfully convince the Dursleys she was  _ smart, obedient and helpful  _ while keeping a snake in secret for three years, for one- and on that note, I apologise for not making sure your family was properly taking care of you. It was a major oversight on my part, and cost you terribly. I can only hope that in time you will heal and be able to forgive me- the staff and I are working on a solution for the next Summer holiday, so you will not be treated in such a manner ever again.”

Albus tried to make his apology as sincere as possible. Severus had indeed given Albus the whole memory of the time he’d spent with Harriet, although the asocial man had barely given him a day to watch and re-watch the memory before demanding it be restored to him. Albus had seen everything that Severus saw- Vernon’s yelling, Petunia’s justifications, Harriet’s fear and misery. 

“A solution?” Harriet asked, and Albus could feel both her eyes piercing through him. “What kind of solution?”

“We don’t know anything for certain yet, I’m sorry to say. But we do have many months in which to find an arrangement that will keep you safe  _ and  _ happy. Is that okay?”

Harriet nodded. “I suppose it will have to be,” she said.

“I’m sure it will. Do you have any questions, or-?” Albus gestured towards the door.

“No questions for now. Thank you for your help, sir.” The child rose from her seat and bowed her head slightly, before leaving.

With a stifled groan, Albus returned his attention to the 12th draft of a bill to protect Mer Villages near muggle settlements. It would be a long night.

*

**Merula grimaced as she opened another letter from her mother. She’d received a dozen such letters over the holidays and even a howler in response to one of her more** **_spirited_ ** **replies, much to her older companion’s amusement. She skimmed the usual greetings before coming up short, her breath catching in her throat. Blinking furiously, she re-read the passage slowly, and then again.**

_**My Darling, your father and I have talked it over and we’ve decided to tell you the truth. You might ask why I’d not told any of this to any of you before- although I’m fairly sure Bran found out somehow- but I, like you, was sorted into Slytherin House. My family, that I’ve not told you anything about in an attempt to shield you from the harshness of this world and how close we are to it, are a family that you know- no doubt you have yearmates of that name. I am talking about the Black family. Darling, I know this must come as a shock to you, being descended from one of the darkest and cruellest lineages in Wizarding Britain, but I believe that one’s choices shape one’s fate, not one’s lineage.** _

**_I ceased all contact with my family when I married your father, and they disowned me in turn. I wanted nothing to do with them, I didn’t even want to think of them any more, much less talk of them, I’m sure you understand. So Merula, now you know why I reacted so badly to you being in Slytherin- I felt that it was my fault that some darkness has taken root within you. But Darling, I was sorted into Slytherin and I don’t hold the beliefs and values ascribed to Slytherin House- and I’m sure you too can get through seven years in Slytherin house with your good nature intact. Make good choices, Merula, and come back home during Easter!_ **

**“Huh.”**

**“What? Are you not getting a Christmas present?” Rita asked from across the table. She shoved her glasses out of the way to rub blearily at her eyes.**

**“My mother’s maiden name is Black,” Merula said without thinking.**

**“Oh, well, I could have told you that.”**

**“Unbelievable, I know- wait, you could? How?”**

**“Looked at some old copies of** **_The Prophet_ ** **in the Library archives. Your mother’s marriage was a big scandal back in the day. Everyone had something to say about it. Can I see the letter?” Rita was already reaching across the table. Merula snatched the letter back instinctively, holding the still windblown-cold and now crumpled parchment protectively to her chest.**

**“No! Of course not!” she scowled at the older girl. Merula could honestly say she had never met a nosier person than Rita Skeeter.**


	15. Chapter 15

Harriet slumped against the wall adjacent the gargoyle that guarded the stairs she had just came down, squeezed her eyes shut and pressed her cold hands to her flushed cheeks, willing her heart rate to return to normal. Professor Dumbledore was a far more terrifying man than Professor Snape. Though he affected a grandfatherly manner that would probably put most children at ease, Harriet had no trouble believing that the man she’d been talking to had defeated one of the most powerful dark wizards of all time. He had an aura of power and wisdom- an energy that could not be dulled by old age. It made Harriet feel like an ignorant child being humoured, no, a puny flobberworm being rejected for potions ingredients.

It was on the edge of her awareness during the meeting that the Headmaster was hiding something, something about her eye, perhaps something absolutely awful. Another mystery- something she hadn’t given much thought to other than passing curiosity before. When she was less fastidious about hiding her freakish eye behind a plaster, her primary school teachers had told her it wasn’t unheard of- that there were other people with different eyes. It was called heterochromia and could be caused by all sorts of things, they said, and one of the teaching assistants gave her a poster of David Bowie who, she was told, had eyes different colours because he was hit in the left eye when he was younger. The poster was rolled up tightly in her trunk, as it had been for years. She knew by then that she wouldn’t be allowed to keep it, so the poster was her biggest secret before Harriet rescued Mr. Snake.

Now, she had a new secret- a secret she never meant to have. Would it be so bad if people knew she had two eyes?

*

**Another time, Another place**

**Erica lay back on the couch, rocking the bassinet besides her with her foot as she read aloud. Her six-day-old son had just been fed and was slowly dropping off to sleep. Every few lines she peeked around the edge of her scroll to look at his face, soft and cherubic in the low afternoon sunlight.**

**“...credit is given to Lung Zhao, who spearheaded the campaign to remove tests reliant upon magical power from entrance exams to all state funded educational institutions in Yuanshan, giving citizens the right to an education regardless of inborn characteristics in 1378. These reforms resulted in greater social mobility for sections of the population with little or no magic…”**

**“If you keep this up, Lian’s first words will be in political jargon,” said a deep voice from the doorway.**

**Erica leaned back to watch her husband hang his winter cloak on the coathook and vanish the light dusting of snow from its soft wool.**

**“Eck! You’re back early. How was your day?”**

**Erica put the scroll down, which slowly began to roll itself shut, and scooted over on the couch, allowing Eckhardt space to sit.**

**“Monotonous as ever. My plan for the re-organisation for the stockroom has finally been approved, and I was able to finish up quicker than before,” said Eckhardt, slumping on the couch next to his wife.**

**“That’s one less thing for you to complain about, I suppose. Did Yawen get her research grant yet?”**

**“If she had, you know that would be the first thing I said when I got back. Dear heart, did you just want to listen to me complain about the incompetent peabrains in charge of the university’s budget?” asked Eckhardt, with a playful smile.**

**“You complain so prettily, though. It must be the reason I fell for you in the first place. Your near-incessant, wonderful complaining. I think I’ll want you to complain in Mandarin as well, to help me learn,” Erica said lazily, slowing the rhythm she was rocking the bassinet at.**

**“Another time, I promise. I visited the bookshop on my way back-” Eckhardt said, placing a paper bag on his wife’s lap.**

**“You did?” Erica’s eyes lit up. “What did you get me?”**

**Eckhardt pulled a slim, colourful scroll from the bag. “Nothing for you. I did, however, get something for Lian. An actual children’s book.”**

**Scrolls were more common than bound books in Yuanshan, with most bound books in the city originating from overseas, like the Fleamonts’ and Weasleys’ sizable collections. Most scrolls were laden with charms to assist in reading which children would learn to operate from an early age. For foreigners who had never seen these scroll types before, the books were more confusing than the ‘The Monster Book of Monsters’.**

**Eckhardt ran two fingers over the characters on the side of the scroll, which caused the title to read itself aloud.**

**“The Legend of Founding? I thought I recognised the characters.”**

**“A tale you’re particularly knowledgeable about by now, presented in simple words with illustrations. Lian will love it when he’s old enough to understand stories.”**

**“I can see it now. You’ll have bought him his first broom before he’s even a year old,” Erica teased.**

**“I rather think Miss Weasley would be the one to do that.”**

**“No, you’d get him a toddler potions kit. Did you see Yawen today, then? I’m hoping I’ll be well enough to go watch her race next week.”**

**“In passing. Enough to complain about hacks like Yakov getting ridiculous grants for his insignificant little projects.”**

**“Every time I see the Weasleys I feel so homesick. I just hope that one day this will all blow over and we’ll all be able to see our families again.”**

**“Erica…”**

**Erica frowned. “If only... if they could meet their cousin that they don’t even know exists...”**

**“Erica. We can’t go back. And you’re upsetting them when you talk about Britain so much. You know why we left and why they left. Going back would destroy our lives, you know that. You love it here. You love the history, the culture, your friends, the hospital, the university. You love wearing ruqun on a sunny day and living every day in peace. You love Lian. Focus on what we can have and leave the past in the past. Please.”**

**“I…” Erica looked over to her son, who had woken and was staring at her with his big, baby-blue eyes. “I do know. I’m sorry. I love you.”**

 

*

Since notices had been posted about flying lessons a few days back, excited conversations had sparked amongst the muggleborn first-years who had never seen someone fly on a broomstick before in their lives and spread to the Slytherin purebloods, to whom flying was little different to riding a bike. Barely a moment went by when a student wasn’t recounting their airbourne misadventures to a crowd of excited first years in some part of the school- mealtimes, between classes, during classes, and after classes in the common room. As was happening this moment in the Slytherin common room when Potter returned, looking more tired and worried than a first year should. Draco watched her hurry over to Davis and the Bulstrode girl, and sit on the arm of the squat armchair they had squeezed together on, listening to a senior student (a member of the unimportant Snell family) speak.

“So there I was, over Honister Pass, so high that the boulders looked like little dots and Buttermere was like a tiny puddle, thinking about how peaceful it was up here with no-one else around, and then  _ wham _ . This huge fucking metal thing came screaming out of nowhere and nearly swatted me like a fly.”

Draco’s gaze left Potter and scanned the other first-years. A few, lesser specimens had expressions of rapt fascination, their mouths gaping open in an unseemly manner. Draco leaned back into his chosen armchair, a fancy green velvet upholstered wingback, and affected a look of mild boredom although he was actually quite interested in the story, seeing images in his mind of massive bludgers zooming through the air and imagining dodging them. 

“I got out of its way, took a moment to catch my breath before, and I kid you not, another one came right after it. I dove down to avoid it and decided that landing would be the best idea and I’m glad I did because a third shot by just as my feet touched the ground.” 

“What were they?” Draco asked, the curiosity too much to bear. “Some kind of creature?”

The senior laughed loudly, and Draco scowled. “No, but I had no idea- I was terrified out of my mind, at the time, I’d just got my apparition license and was going off alone to places, you know. So I asked these muggles that were out on the fell for some reason or the other, what on earth that was, and I think they didn’t understand that I actually wanted an answer to the question. But they didn’t seem concerned about it anyway, so it must be something muggle. I had to get out of there before they noticed I was carrying a broomstick, so I didn’t press the issue.”

Another senior, Shreya Nagarjun, wrinkled her brow. “You  _ were _ using a disillusionment charm while you were flying, right?” she asked in a judgemental tone. The Head Girl’s badge glittered on her chest and she wore bracelets on each wrist that were adorned with dozens of tiny bells that never seemed to make a sound, no matter how sharply she gestured. 

“Of course, I’m not  _ Fawley _ . I wish we didn’t have to bother with them though, they feel so… gloopy,” he said, and shuddered dramatically. “So, anyone have any ideas as to what nearly turned me into jam last month?”

“Can’t be a helicopter- I’ve seen enough of those awful things to last me a lifetime. They’re  slower than that,” Draco mused. “Potter, Davis. Do you have any ideas?”

Potter jumped at the sound of her name. “Ideas?”

“Seeing as you both have ample experience of the muggle world, I’m assuming you can identify the flying objects for us,” Draco drawled, lounging back into his armchair.

Potter and Davis seemed to have a silent conversation which ended with Potter shaking her head, and Davis speaking up. “They were probably Fighter Jets. Fighter Jets fly low and fast like that. They’re used in the muggle military.”

“Oh, how awful. Are the muggles at war?” Pansy asked, feigning concern.

“No, well, not here at least, they were probably just training or something,” Davis answered.

“Pity. The world could do with a few less muggles,” Pansy said airily.

Draco snickered as Davis tensed and struggled to get up, with Bulstrode holding her firmly in her seat. He almost didn’t notice Potter standing up. 

“If you think muggle wars wouldn’t affect the magical world, you’re a fool, Parkinson,”she said, in the exact same tone she’d used on Draco when she took offence to what he said about Granger. Davis stopped struggling with Bulstrode and they both stared at Potter.

“Muggles have weapons that can level entire cities, and I’ve read that there’s no magical defence against them. So until we find one, we’re in just as much danger as the muggles.” 

Draco sat bolt upright. That can’t possibly be true, his father would have said something if there was such a real danger from the muggle world.

“That can’t be true,” Pansy echoed Draco’s thoughts.

Nagarjun let out a bark of laughter. “It’s true, but it’s highly unlikely that any of the nuclear-armed states will use their weapons against each other. By using them they would be signing two death warrants, the other country’s, and their own. It’s called mutually assured destruction.”

“That’s incredibly comforting to know,” Draco muttered.

Nagarjun stood, brushing biscuit crumbs off her robes. “I think that’s enough of that now, first years, go on, off to bed with you. And make sure not to show up Slytherin in your flying lessons tomorrow-” she started before being cut off by a door slamming open and Snape striding in, his robes swirling around him and a thunderous look on his face.

“Potter. My office. Now.”

*

 

“Care to explain yourself?” Snape loomed over his student, who stood fiddling with the sleeves of her robes, staring at a shelf of potions ingredients with a blank expression. There was a jar of… were those fingers? Yes, a particular jar of long, thin fingers that caught her interest. None of the potions books she’d read mentioned fingers of any kind, so they must be an uncommon ingredient.

“Explain?”

“Yes, Potter, explain to me why you thought it was a good idea to not only steal from the school caretaker’s office, but trap his door with a prank item banned in this school.”

Harriet’s mouth dropped open in surprise. She’d honestly forgotten what had happened earlier that evening. To think she’d been caught somehow- had they caught Fred and George too? It wouldn’t be wise to accidentally drop them in it if they hadn’t been. Even if it was their idea in the first place. A plan started to form.

“Sir, I didn’t mean to go into Filch’s office-”

“I am aware. Peeves was caught boasting about trapping ‘Wee Potty’ in the caretaker’s office. It was somewhat embarrassing that one of my own students could be so easily tricked by a poltergeist. So tell me, why did you decide that once you were in the office that, instead of letting yourself out immediately, that you would instead snoop through the drawers and take something?”

Harriet hid her relief. It looked like the twins were in the clear, and the only reason she’d been caught was Peeves. “I did leave the office immediately. I don’t know who took and used the dungbombs, sir, but it wasn’t me.”

Snape sighed and clicked his tongue against the top of his mouth loudly. “Not once did I mention the nature of these prank items. Fifteen points from Slytherin. You will have detention with Argus Filch tomorrow after lessons tomorrow- at two o’clock, to clean up the mess you made of the Caretaker’s office. You will bring the dungbombs to me from wherever you’ve stashed them after your detention, or you will serve another detention Friday afternoon. Is that clear?”

“Crystal, sir. Wait- but the first flying lessons of the year are tomorrow. Will this mean I’ll miss them?”

“That depends on how long Mr. Filch keeps you. I am disappointed in you; this is the kind of thoughtless behaviour one would expect from a Gryffindor like your father, the kind of pointless disregard he and his-”

“Don’t talk about my father like that, sir!”

“I’ll talk about him however I like, Miss Potter. You are dismissed. Remember to bring  _ all _ of the dungbombs to me before Friday.”

Harriet spun on her heel and left, fuming all the way back to the common room. She strode through the dormitory, taking a second to throw her shoes under her bed and mumble a reply to Tracey before darting to the showers.

*

“Harriet? Are you okay? You look-” Tracey started as Harriet stormed through the dormitory. Pansy, Daphne and Liselle giggled behind their hands and Tracey blocked them out. 

She followed Harriet into the bathroom to see that she’d already shut herself in a shower cubicle and had the water turned on full blast. Tracey walked past the stone snake and knocked on the shower door. “Harriet?”

No answer.

Tracey waited for a while before turning to leave, but something caught her eye. Harriet’s eyepatch, lying abandoned on the floor. Tracey picked it up carefully, and went over to the stone snake to put it where Harriet would see it. Standing at the washstand, she looked at her reflection in the mirror, and wondered for a second how she would look with an eyepatch. It couldn’t hurt, could it?

Tracey lifted it to her face, only to stare at her reflection in confusion. The eyepatch was covering her eye, pressed against it, but she could see right through it like it wasn’t even there. The shower door opened and Tracey turned to face Harriet, eyepatch held out with no sign that she’d been trying it on just a second before. She wore a white towel wrapped around her and her wet hair was plastered back from her face, which was completely uncovered.

Her left eye was shut, and there was a flatness to the eyelid, indicating there was nothing behind it. It wasn’t all that gruesome as one might imagine, no mess of scars or gaping cavities. Just slightly droopy looking. The eyepatch wasn’t at all necessary.

“Hey, are you okay? What did Snape want?”

Harriet silently took her eyepatch back and tied it tightly in place. “I have detention for trapping Filch’s office with a dungbomb.”

“What? When- why the hell did you do that?” asked Tracey, giving Harriet a worried look.

“It’s a really long story,” Harriet sighed, rubbing her hair dry. “But it looks like I’ll be missing the flying lessons tomorrow, and Snape’s really mad at me. And I need to get something back from the Weasley twins, or I’ll get more detentions.”

Seeing the dejected look on Harriet’s face, Tracey dropped the suspicions rapidly forming in her mind and tried to console her friend. “He can’t be that mad if you’re still in one piece. I should tell you what he did to Uncle John that time-”

It didn’t work.

“Thanks, Tracey, but I’m going to bed now. It’s been a long day.” Harriet left the bathroom, bare feet padding silently on the marble floor.

Tracey took her own shower, and tried to piece together what she’d just seen with what she already knew. The eyepatch was see-through. It was perfectly, faultlessly see-through, which only made sense if there was something to see through it. Like a working eye, one that was never destroyed. But she’d seen Harriet’s left eye, or what remained of it. Could a charm have been used to disguise a working eye? But why? What needed to be hidden, and should she ask Harriet about it or keep her suspicions to herself?

If she said something, she could lose Harriet’s friendship, lose something new and wonderful that Tracey coveted dearly. Harriet’s friendship was something that could not be risked, as it was the only real friendship she’d managed to cultivate so far.

Tracey sighed and turned off the water, wringing her long, dark brown hair dry with her hands. Sometimes she envied Harriet’s ability to talk things over with a snake whenever life got too confusing, which she was probably doing right now. Tracey fell asleep and woke up to the sound of soft hissing from the bed next to her just about every night and morning.

When she was back in the dorm room, there was silence from Harriet’s bed. The only sounds were the usual whispering and giggling from the other side of the room. Tracey sighed, lit her wand and reached for the letter she had been writing to her Dad, and the ballpoint pen she kept hidden under her pillow. She wouldn’t tell him anything about what she’d seen, but writing to him had always calmed her almost as if she was talking to him right there and then. She would write to him when he was away for work, even though she couldn’t send the letters to him and he’d have to read them when he came back home. 

At least she could send this letter, in the early hours of tomorrow morning. She wondered if Harriet would be awake to go to the owlery with her.


	16. Chapter 16

Adrian rolled over in his sleep only to hit something solid. He considered opening his eyes, but it turned out that wasn’t really a possibility at the moment. An indeterminate amount of time later, he gathered the energy to mutter something along the lines of, “Get out of my bed, Bulstrode.”

“Good morning to you too, Pucey.”

“Morning?” Adrian asked his pillow. “In the dungeons there is no morning, only darkness… and spiders.”

The intruder besides him snickered. Adrian felt a hand running over his close-cropped hair and pushing the duvet down to his shoulders. “What are you dreaming about?” he asked.

Adrian relaxed into the hand that was now rubbing circles over his shoulder, and slowly let his eyelids flutter open. Bright blue eyes, eyes that he’d always found fascinating in ways he couldn’t describe, stared back into his.  “How did you get in my dorm room? It’s warded against intruders.”

“The wards are shockingly easy to bypass. Really, this entire castle is terribly insecure. Almost anyone could sneak in and murder you in your sleep.”

Adrian watched those eyes light up as the other boy spun his usual bullshit tales that had first years quaking in their expensive dragonhide boots, or sharing the most ridiculous made-up ‘facts’ around the school. He was grateful for the fact that he grew up around the Bulstrodes and was wise to Nero’s tricks long before either of them started Hogwarts.

“Mm. The entire school is protected only by a couple of hexes and an alarmed door,” agreed Adrian. He turned over and pressed a kiss to his boyfriend’s lips. “You haven’t been here all night have you? Because that would be weird.”

“No, I just thought I’d wake you up early, so you’re not late to Quidditch practice. You’re always late to the morning sessions.”

“You- how do you know that? You’re not even on the team, you’re in the bloody chess club!” Adrian spluttered.

“Flint is a gossip. And for your information, the Slytherin Chess Team is a fine group of people and we _are_ going to beat Ravenclaw this year.”

“Go away. I’m going to get dressed. I’ll see you at breakfast, and if you break into my room and make yourself at home in my bed again, I’ll suffocate you.”

*

“Draco, can you show me your Transfiguration homework? I’ve no idea what Question 2 is going on about,” Pansy whined, grabbing onto Draco’s arm and looking up at him pleadingly.

“Can’t you wait until we’re at the Slytherin table? I can’t even remember what Question 2 was, right now,” Draco snapped. The annoying girl must have seen him helping Crabbe and Goyle with theirs last night and assumed that he did that for anybody who asked.

“Don’t worry, Pans, I’ll explain it to you,” Theo said smoothly, smirking at Draco.

Draco barely stopped himself from glaring at the other boy, instead huffing and striding past the group to the Great Hall, where breakfast was being held. Most pupils were eating at their own house tables but a few strayed to others, most notably with the Gryffindor table, at which sat at least a dozen Hufflepuffs. He caught a flash of red among the green and sneered when he saw who it was. Seated with the Bulstrodes, Pucey, Davis and Potter were Longbottom and the Granger girl. A mudblood at the Slytherin table. What would Father think?

“Draco, you’re staring,” Blaise said helpfully. “Come on, we’re sitting over here.”

Draco’s irritation peaked at the indignity of being led around by his childhood friends. Leading was his job, _honestly._ He narrowed his eyes at the happy group of blood traitors and turned to Blaise, who was sitting opposite Crabbe and Goyle.

“Bulstrode and Pucey seem oddly close,” he remarked for want of something to say as he sat down next to the other boy, drew his wand and carefully levitated a portion of French omelette onto his plate.

“Hm? Oh, they’ve been dating since this summer. Didn’t you know?” Blaise went on, affecting ignorance of Draco’s suffering. “They’ve been trying to keep it under wraps, but really, they’re rather obvious. I’m surprised you missed it.”

“I’ve been focusing on my studies,” Draco said with an icy air of finality. “I don’t have time to keep up with trivial gossip if I’m to be top of my year, Blaise.”

“Of course. Will you take a look at my Transfiguration homework for me? Question 2 is a little confusing,” asked Blaise.

Draco grimaced. “Alright, fine. What was it again?”

Blaise pulled out a scroll of parchment, and Draco went over it, chewed on a mouthful of omelette, nodded, and opened his mouth to explain-

“Oh, Neville, look. It’s really quite simple. If one item shares similar properties to another, it is easier to transfigure that item into a copy of the other. Listing the properties from the textbook is Question 1, but Question 2 basically asks you to consider other properties the items may share that are less easily classified. In the example I used, the match is not only similar to the needle in that it is a small, long, thin tool, common to most households, but it also has a small element of danger associated with it that often makes it an item forbidden to small children. This is a shared property more strongly picked up on by children and parents. Do you understand?” Granger’s raised voice carried across to where Draco and Blaise were sitting.

“Y-yes, I think so. Thank you, Hermione,” Longbottom stuttered.

 _I will not scream. I will not scream,_ Draco repeated to himself.

“Is that what you put?” Blaise asked, not bothering to conceal his amusement this time.

“Yes, it is,” Draco bit out, shoving Blaise’s homework back at him. He reached for the tongs and shoved three rashers of bacon onto his plate, followed by a handful of sliced apple.

“Same example?”

Draco stuffed his mouth with food to stop himself from having to answer. Blaise continued to needle him (Ha! Needle!) until the Quidditch team left for practice, leaving the table much quieter in their absence. Draco’s mood perked up a little when his eagle owl dropped a parcel into his hands, and he carefully unwrapped it. Rows upon rows of Turkish delight in various flavours were nestled in the tastefully designed box, bearing the name of some expensive magiconfectioners. He grinned and made sure Blaise got a good long look at his prize before he hid it away in his satchel.

“Zabini, you’re being quite annoying,” Draco said calmly, spelling his hands clean of apple juice, having eaten everything on his plate in a controlled fit of rage. “If you keep it up I might find that I do not want to spend time in your company for much longer.”

Blaise’s face was a study in contrition. “I’m sorry, Draco. I didn’t mean to-”

“Then don’t,” Draco said, getting up from the table and lifting his satchel onto his shoulder with practiced grace. “I’m going to Transfiguration.”

If he had left the hall at that moment, it would have been a small victory. However, Draco was quite upset and lacked the ability to judge when enough is enough. When he passed the group of annoyances, he noticed that Neville had received his own parcel. A remembrall. He remembered playing with one, years ago, and before thought through what he was doing, he snatched the glowing glass orb out of Longbottom’s hand, sneering down at the other boy.

Yes, the runes carved into it were the exact same as the one he remembered. The exact shade of crimson that had him and his mother in tears of laughter trying to remember what it was they’d forgot so the colour would change back.

“Malfoy, it looks like you’ve forgotten not to take other people’s property,” Nero Bulstrode said cooly, interrupting his reminiscence. To Draco’s embarrassment, the orb turned white. He dropped it into Longbottom’s hand and left the hall without a word.

*

The area surrounding the door was an abominable mess, coated entirely in a disgusting brown substance. If it looked horrid, it smelled even worse. So this was what a dungbomb was capable of.

Harriet hefted a wooden bucket bucket of clear, soapy water closer to where she’d decided to start cleaning, careful not to spill it everywhere. She grabbed a rag that looked like it had a past life as a Gryffindor pillowcase, and knelt by the bucket to dip it into the water. Looking back at the mess, she frowned, thinking that it would be best to scrape away the mess into an empty bucket and then go over it with a rag. Why hadn’t the caretaker given her something to do that with?

It didn’t matter. She was in the caretaker’s office, which was full of cleaning supplies. She dropped the rag in the bucket she’d been given and got up to get another bucket and a scraper of some sort. She found a flat trowel and started work on the mess, scraping it into piles before dumping it into the empty bucket. She let her mind switch off as she cleared the floor, and soon even the smell didn’t bother her. It wasn’t as bad as cleaning up Dudley’s puke.

When the floor was scraped clear, leaving the door and walls, she reached for the wet rag, wringing it out and swiping it over the flagstones. Hitting a crack between the stones, something shoved up against her hand and she shrieked, dropping the rag. There was an odd fizzling noise, and Harriet could only stare as slimy brown foam rose up from between the flagstones. The smell worsened, and Harriet gagged.

Dungbombs were _evil_.

Having little choice and somewhat curious, she reached for the rag again, squeezing out the water over the area she’d cleared. Slime foamed up in square patterns, with occasional dune-shaped blobs in the middle of the flagstones where she’d missed a bit.

Harriet laughed, and immediately wrapped the lapel of her robe over the lower half of her face to protect from the eye-watering stench. She dipped the rag into the bucket again and shook it at the door, sitting back to watch in amazement as foam multiplied and slid down the wooden panels. Had she started cleaning that with a wet rag, she’d be buried up to the elbow in the stinking stuff. It was no doubt what Mr. Filch intended.

Sighing, she scraped away the foam to shove it in the bucked, where it fizzled disgustingly. It was a slow process, and she’d had to empty the bucket several times before the floor, door, and walls were sparkling clean to Aunt Petunia’s standard. Even the cleaning supplies were cleaned, the rag wrung out, and she was free to go.

She stepped out of the office with a happy sigh. She’d make it to her flying lessons a little late, but- oh.

There was still the other side of the door to clean.

*

**Merula tried to concentrate on levitating the origami crane in front of her, but the most she could get it to do was spin in circles without lifting off from the desk once. Giving up, she turned to the boy next to her, who was making his crane divebomb the Hufflepuffs sitting in front of them.**

**“Lucius, help,” she moaned. “How do I make it fly?”**

**Lucius left the paper crane dangling in mid air over their beleaguered classmates and looked over to Merula before he changed his mind abruptly, flicking his wand at his crane and turning it Slytherin green with a whispered spell.**

**“Show off,” one of the Hufflepuff boys muttered, before flinching and turning back to his work.**

**“Fine, I’ll help. Try again, and I’ll tell you what you’re doing wrong,” Lucius said with an easy smile, his attention focused on Merula. He tucked a shoulder-length strand of white-blonde hair behind his ear.**

**Merula blushed and nodded, swishing her wand at the white paper crane and incanting, “Wingardium Leviosa.”**

**It spun again, this time faster.**

**“Well?” Merula asked, guiding the spinning paper crane away from the edge of the desk, where it had slowly been heading towards. She looked shyly at Lucius, her dark brown eyes framed by thick red lashes.**

**“At least it’s doing something,” Lucius said, jerking his head at the Hufflepuffs. “Look at those idiots. Theirs aren’t even moving.”**

**“I suppose.”**

**“Do it again.”**

**“Wingardium Leviosa.” The crane spun, so fast it became a white blur.**

**“Oh wow. I don’t think I’ve seen anything quite like that,” Lucius said. He leaned closer to the crane, his eyes intent as he watched it spin closer to him. The slight movement let his hair fall forwards over his face.**

**All of a sudden, the crane burst into flames and Lucius reared back with a startled yell, the fire clinging to his hair and climbing up it, glowing brightly.**

**“Lucius!” Merula screamed.**

**Lucius cried out in pain, but was able to extinguish the flames with his wand. He covered the side of his face with his hands, stifling a whimper.**

**The boys in front sniggered openly, which enraged Lucius. He dropped his hands from his face, the right side of which was tracked with soot and pointed his wand at the gleeful Hufflepuffs.**

**“Don’t think you’ll get away with this, Mudbloods!” he spat angrily.**

**Merula looked between him and the other boys, half panicked and wholly unsure what to do.**

**“Mr. Malfoy! Put your wand down and I’ll have none of that language in my class!” Professor Flitwick squeaked from Lucius’s other side, vanishing the flaming paper. “20 points from Slytherin and detention with your Head of House.”**

**Lucius lowered his wand, smoothing his face into a neutral mask. “But Professor, they set the crane on fire,” he protested. Merula nodded weakly from besides him.**

**“Nonsense, Mr. Malfoy. Dry paper, friction. It set itself alight. Do you need to go to the hospital wing?”**

**Lucius curled his lip, but nodded silently.**

**“Miss. Weasley, do be so good as to go with him will you? Alright class, settle down,” the small professor said, turning away from their table.**

**“Come on, Merula. Let’s get out of here,” Lucius said, grabbing Merula’s hand and half-dragging her out of the classroom. She almost had to run to keep up.**

**“Slow down, please,” she gasped once they were at the end of the corridor.**

**Lucius stopped and looked back at her. He looked a mess, blackened streaks frizzing out from his light hair and soot smudged over half his face.**

**“Sorry for setting you on fire. How bad are you hurt?” Merula asked in a small, worried voice.**

**“Not badly. My ear’s been burnt, but nothing some salve won’t fix in a few seconds. I’m mostly worried about my hair,” Lucius said with a wince. “I hope Pomfrey has something to fix it.”**

**Merula held back from commenting on his vanity. “Maybe she’ll cut it and regrow it.”**

**“That’s what I’m thinking,” Lucius said and they set off again, but at a more sensible pace. “But I don’t think she stocks hair potions in the hospital wing. Merula, how much is damaged?”**

**“Not much. You’re covered in soot though. I’m really sorry.”**

**Lucius swiped at his face and scowled at the black marks on his fingers. He pulled out a strand of hair to try and examine it, twisting it in front of his face with his fingers. Eventually, he dropped it and sighed, looking back to Merula with an exasperated expression.**

**“You didn’t mean to, don’t worry. What I’m saying is, is that if all the damaged parts were cut away, how difficult would it be to hide while I procured a re-growing potion? I might have to wait** **_days_ ** **.”**

**Merula smiled. “I think you could cover it up well enough.”**

**“Oh, good,” Lucius said distractedly.**

**Thankfully, they didn’t run into anyone before they got to the hospital wing. Madam Pomfrey directed them to sit on a bench and wait while she dealt with an older student whose hands were swollen to several times their normal size.**

**“It was the flick.”**

**“Huh?” Merula asked, tearing her gaze away from the unfortunate girl who had been given a bowl of a foul-looking potion to soak her hands in.**

**“Swish and flick. Except, your flick was more of a curl. You need to keep the motion a little straighter. Here, try it.”**

**Lucius opened his hand and held out a ball of crumpled green paper. Merula grinned at him and nodded, pulling her wand out and pointing it at the former crane.**

*

Harriet ran out onto the grounds, green-lined robes flaring out behind her. The flying lessons should still be on, but she was very late. Thankfully, the ground was dry enough to run on without slipping. Just ahead, she could spot a group of people in two straight lines next to a huge old oak tree, so she ran faster until she was close enough to recognise each of her classmates, and was quite out of breath. The line closest to her was comprised wholly of Gryffindors- there was Lavender, Parvati, Yukari, Hermione, Neville, Ron, Seamus, Dean, and a couple of others she couldn’t put a name to. The Slytherins stood across from them, and Harriet picked out Millie and Tracey across from Hermione and Neville. They had all mounted their brooms and seemed to be waiting for the instructor to give the order to take to the air.

Before that could happen, though, Neville shot up from the ranks of the Gryffindors like a cork from the bottle, speeding up and up -

“Neville!” Harriet yelled, forgetting her earlier exhaustion and darting forwards. She could hear the instructor shouting “Come back, boy!”, but Neville only rose higher and faster. When Harriet was in a few feet of him, he slipped and fell off the broom, faster than he had risen into the air-  too fast for anyone to do anything about it. He landed with a sickening thud and a crack, almost at Harriet’s feet, face down on the grass.

“Neville!” Harriet was kneeling at his side in an instant, not noticing, or had she noticed, caring for the mud smearing over her robes. “Neville, are you dead?” she asked, her voice pitched high with fear. The flying instructor leant over him, her face pale. She rolled Neville over gently, and to Harriet’s great relief, the boy whimpered and clutched his wrist.

“Let me see that wrist,” the instructor muttered. “Broken. Move out of the way, girl.”

Harriet retreated to a safe distance at lightning speed.

The instructor helped Neville up, muttering comforting words to him before looking over to Harriet. “I was told you wouldn’t be attending my lesson,” she said, her yellow eyes staring straight into Harriet’s green one. “I don’t have time to deal with you right now. Stay with the others and I’ll see if you can be included in the lesson when we get back.”

She turned to the rest of the class and raised her voice. “None of you is to move while I take this boy to the hospital wing! You leave those brooms where they are, understand?”

Harriet watched the woman guide a quietly sobbing Neville away, brow furrowed in worry. After at least ten separate mishaps in potions that she’d skillfully prevented, the boy’s awful clumsiness had seemingly gained sentience and found a way to do him damage at last. At least it wasn’t on her watch.

Malfoy burst into laughter. “Did you see his face, the great lump?” he guffawed.

“Shut it, Malfoy,” Parvati snarled at him. Yukari shot her an approving smile.

“Ooh, sticking up for Longbottom? Never thought you’d like fat little cry-babies, Parvati. Harriet, looks like you’ve got competition,” Pansy said gleefully.

Harriet pointedly ignored her in favour of walking over to her friends. The three other girls formed a barrier between her and the rest of the Slytherins, which Harriet was grateful for.

“I’m sorry, I haven’t had a chance to talk to the twins. We’ll track them down after flying,” Hermione said in a low voice.

“Maybe I should ask Ron,” Harriet said, looking over to the redhead, who had got himself in an argument with Malfoy. “He’s their brother, after all.”

“I think you should tell Snape the truth!” Hermione hissed.

“Don’t be stupid!” Millie butted in. “You’re thinking like a Hufflepuff, never mind a Gryffindor. You don’t want the infamous Weasley twins as your enemies.”

“That’s not how it should work!” Hermione retorted. “Teachers are there to-”

Tracey gave a strangled yell and pointed up. “Malfoy’s taken off!”

Harriet looked up and sure enough, Malfoy was slowly gliding up, clutching something in his fist that sparkled in the sunlight. He stopped and hovered when he was level with the topmost branches of the oak tree.

“Come on, Weasel!” he taunted. The other Slytherins were laughing loudly. “Come and get it!”

Ron’s face had turned as red as his hair, but he shook his head and stood his ground. “I’ll tell Hooch where it is when she comes back- _and_ who put it there!” he yelled.

Harriet ran forwards. “Malfoy! Draco! What are you doing? You’ll lose us so many points if someone sees! Come back and give that thing here!” she called up to him.

“Defending your boyfriend, Potter? I don’t know why you were even sorted into Slytherin if you’re going to cosy up to that lot of snivelling blood-traitors and mudbloods.”

“Take that back!” Harriet yelled. “Take that back or I’ll go up there and wring your scrawny neck!”

“I’d like to see you try! You’ve never even touched a broom, have you? I bet you can’t even summon one. Come on, I’m waiting!”

Incensed, Harriet strode forwards, holding her hand out over one of the brooms lying on the ground, which shot into her palm before she could even say a word.

“Harriet, stop,” Hermione pleaded.

“Really, it’s not worth it,” Tracey agreed.

“Just put that thing down and ignore him,” Millie said.

Harriet felt the weight of the broom in her hands, the rough texture of the handle covered with scratches and the odd splinter sticking out. Something about it was oddly familiar and right, like a memory from before she could remember. Without thinking about what she was doing, she mounted the broom.

“Harriet-” Tracey started, but Harriet was already rising into the air. Slowly at first, but as she got higher any doubts she held disappeared. There was nothing to riding a broom. It was far easier, far more intuitive than riding a bicycle ever was. If she didn’t know better, she’d think she’d ridden a broom before, perhaps in another life.

“Well, Malfoy?” Harriet asked as she drew level with him. A smile stretched across her face at the sight of his stupefied expression. The boy banked to the right, away from the tree and Harriet. Harriet followed him, delighted at the sensation of being so high up in the air and feeling completely in control. Wind blasted into her face and her robes flared around her as she swerved up to spiral down at him from above like a sparrowhawk playing with its food.

Malfoy tried to dart out of the way but she drew level with him easily. “Just apologise and give me the remembrall, alright?” she asked, although her sincerity may have been affected somewhat by her giddy smile.

“How?” Malfoy asked after she followed him in a dive completely unscathed. “You must have flown before, haven’t you?”

Harriet shook her head. “The remembrall?” she persisted, holding out her hand. Unlike having one hand off a bicycle, there was no fear or loss of control. She felt sure she could raise both hands of the broom, leaving only her careful balance and crossed ankles to hold her on the battered stick of wood, many metres high in the air. How strange.

Malfoy stared at her, his grey eyes wide. Slowly, he held out the little white cloud contained in its glass prison, and gently placed it in her palm. The instant it touched her hand, it turned red.

“Shit! The lesson,” Harriet cursed. “I hope nobody’s seen us.”

As one, they turned their brooms and looked down at the group of first years, who were now so far away from them.

“Race you back,” Malfoy said, before shooting ahead of her.

Harriet grinned and followed, pulling into the lead with ease. She skidded into the ground just in front of the group, tumbling off her broom onto the grass, clutching the remembrall to her chest and laughing. Unsteadily, she got to her feet to watch Malfoy’s more graceful landing.

“You’re covered in mud, Potter,” he commented dryly, but there was a light in his eyes that wasn’t there before.

“I won, though,” Harriet said with a laugh.

“I don’t see Hooch,” Malfoy continued, ignoring his losses. “I think we’re in the clear. You’re not bad, Potter. You should try out for the Quidditch team next year.”

“Yeah. I will,” Harriet said. “That was fun.”

“Harriet,” Tracey said from behind her. When she didn’t immediately respond, the other girl grabbed her arm and spun her around with surprising force. “What were you thinking? Have you lost your mind?”

Harriet started to speak, but Millie strode up to her and yanked the broom from her hand, causing a splinter to break off into the skin of her palm. She threw the broom over to the others, before aiming her wand at the other girl and incanting “ _SCOURGIFY!_ ” at the top of her voice.

Harriet muffled a scream as all her clothes became suddenly heavy, wet and soapy before bubbling and drying on her, somewhat tighter than they were before.

“Millie, what-?” Harriet started.

“Removing evidence,” Millicent said smugly. “If Madam Hooch saw you like that she’ll know in an instant you’ve been up to something. Hermione, don’t tell the teachers anything.”

“I wasn’t planning on it!” Hermione protested.

“I think you’ve shrunk my robes,” Harriet muttered under her breath. She turned the remembrall in her hands. It was still red.


End file.
